Book V

Chapter 1

Minas Tirith

Pippin looked out from the shelter of Gandalf’s cloak. He wondered if he
was awake or still sleeping, still in the swift-moving dream in which he had
been wrapped so long since the great ride began. The dark world was rushing by
and the wind sang loudly in his ears. He could see nothing but the wheeling
stars, and away to his right vast shadows against the sky where the mountains of
the South marched past. Sleepily he tried to reckon the times and stages of
their journey, but his memory was drowsy and uncertain.

There had been the first ride at terrible speed without a halt, and then in
the dawn he had seen a pale gleam of gold, and they had come to the silent town
and the great empty house on the hill. And hardly had they reached its shelter
when the winged shadow had passed over once again, and men wilted with fear. But
Gandalf had spoken soft words to him, and he had slept in a corner, tired but
uneasy, dimly aware of comings and goings and of men talking and Gandalf giving
orders. And then again riding, riding in the night. This was the second, no, the
third night since he had looked in the Stone. And with that hideous memory he
woke fully, and shivered, and the noise of the wind became filled with menacing
voices.

A light kindled in the sky, a blaze of yellow fire behind dark barriers
Pippin cowered back, afraid for a moment, wondering into what dreadful country
Gandalf was bearing him. He rubbed his eyes, and then he saw that it was the
moon rising above the eastern shadows, now almost at the full. So the night was
not yet old and for hours the dark journey would go on. He stirred and spoke.

‘Where are we, Gandalf?’ he asked.

‘In the realm of Gondor,’ the wizard answered. ‘The land of Anórien
is still passing by.’

There was a silence again for a while. Then, ‘What is that?’ cried Pippin
suddenly, clutching at Gandalf’s cloak. ‘Look! Fire, red fire! Are there
dragons in this land? Look, there is another!’

For answer Gandalf cried aloud to his horse. ‘On, Shadowfax! We must hasten.
Time is short. See! The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is
kindled. See, there is the fire on Amon Dîn, and flame on Eilenach; and
there they go speeding west: Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhad, and the
Halifirien on the borders of Rohan.’

But Shadowfax paused in his stride, slowing to a walk, and then he lifted up
his head and neighed. And out of the darkness the answering neigh of other
horses came; and presently the thudding of hoofs was heard, and three riders
swept up and passed like flying ghosts in the moon and vanished into the West.
Then Shadowfax gathered himself together and sprang away, and the night flowed
over him like a roaring wind.

Pippin became drowsy again and paid little attention to Gandalf telling him
of the customs of Gondor, and how the Lord of the City had beacons built on the
tops of outlying hills along both borders of the great range, and maintained
posts at these points where fresh horses were always in readiness to bear his
errand-riders to Rohan in the North, or to Belfalas in the South. ‘It is long
since the beacons of the North were lit,’ he said; ‘and in the ancient days
of Gondor they were not needed, for they had the Seven Stones.’ Pippin stirred
uneasily.

‘Sleep again, and do not be afraid!’ said Gandalf. ‘For you are not
going like Frodo to Mordor, but to Minas Tirith, and there you will be as safe
as you can be anywhere in these days. If Gondor falls, or the Ring is taken,
then the Shire will be no refuge.’

‘You do not comfort me,’ said Pippin, but nonetheless sleep crept over
him. The last thing that he remembered before he fell into deep dream was a
glimpse of high white peaks, glimmering like floating isles above the clouds as
they caught the light of the westering moon. He wondered where Frodo was, and if
he was already in Mordor, or if he was dead; and he did not know that Frodo from
far away looked on that same moon as it set beyond Gondor ere the coming of the
day.

Pippin woke to the sound of voices. Another day of hiding and a night of
journey had fleeted by. It was twilight: the cold dawn was at hand again, and
chill grey mists were about them. Shadowfax stood steaming with sweat, but he
held his neck proudly and showed no sign of weariness. Many tall men heavily
cloaked stood beside him, and behind them in the mist loomed a wall of stone.
Partly ruinous it seemed, but already before the night was passed the sound of
hurried labour could be heard: beat of hammers, clink of trowels, and the creak
of wheels. Torches and flares glowed dully here and there in the fog. Gandalf
was speaking to the men that barred his way, and as he listened Pippin became
aware that he himself was being discussed.

‘Yea truly, we know you, Mithrandir,’ said the leader of the men, ‘and
you know the pass-words of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward. But we do
not know your companion. What is he? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North?
We wish for no strangers in the land at this time, unless they be mighty men of
arms in whose faith and help we can trust.’

‘I will vouch for him before the seat of Denethor,’ said Gandalf. ‘And
as for valour, that cannot be computed by stature. He has passed through more
battles and perils than you have, Ingold, though you be twice his height; and he
comes now from the storming of Isengard, of which we bear tidings, and great
weariness is on him, or I would wake him. His name is Peregrin, a very valiant
man.’

‘Man?’ said Ingold dubiously; and the others laughed.

‘Man!’ cried Pippin, now thoroughly roused. ‘Man! Indeed not! I am a
hobbit and no more valiant than I am a man, save perhaps now and again by
necessity. Do not let Gandalf deceive you!’

‘Many a doer of great deeds might say no more,’ said Ingold. ‘But what
is a hobbit?’

‘A Halfling,’ answered Gandalf. ‘Nay, not the one that was spoken
of,’ he added seeing the wonder in the men’s faces. ‘Not he, yet one of
his kindred.’

‘Yes, and one who journeyed with him,’ said Pippin. ‘And Boromir of
your City was with us, and he saved me in the snows of the North, and at the
last he was slain defending me from many foes.’

‘Peace!’ said Gandalf. ‘The news of that grief should have been told
first to the father.’

‘It has been guessed already,’ said Ingold; ‘for there have been
strange portents here of late. But pass on now quickly! For the Lord of Minas
Tirith will be eager to see any that bear the latest tidings of his son, be he
man or-‘

‘Hobbit,’ said Pippin. ‘Little service can I offer to your lord, but
what I can do, I would do, remembering Boromir the brave.’

‘Fare you well!’ said Ingold; and the men made way for Shadow fax, and he
passed through a narrow gate in the wall. ‘May you bring good counsel to
Denethor in his need, and to us all, Mithrandir!’ Ingold cried. ‘But you
come with tidings of grief and danger, as is your wont, they say.’

‘Because I come seldom but when my help is needed,’ answered Gandalf.
‘And as for counsel, to you I would say that you are over-late in repairing
the wall of the Pelennor. Courage will now be your best defence against the
storm that is at hand - that and such hope as I bring. For not all the tidings
that I bring are evil. But leave your trowels and sharpen your swords!’

‘The work will be finished ere evening,’ said Ingold. ‘This is the last
portion of the wall to be put in defence: the least open to attack, for it looks
towards our friends of Rohan. Do you know aught of them? Will they answer the
summons, think you?’

‘Yes, they will come. But they have fought many battles at your back. This
road and no road looks towards safety any longer. Be vigilant! But
for Gandalf Stormcrow you would have seen a host of foes coming out of Anórien
and no Riders of Rohan. And you may yet. Fare you well, and sleep not!’

Gandalf passed now into the wide land beyond the Rammas Echor. So the men of
Gondor called the out wall that they had built with great labour, after Ithilien
fell under the shadow of their Enemy. For ten leagues or more it ran from the
mountains’ feet and so back again, enclosing in its fence the fields of the
Pelennor: fair and fertile townlands on the long slopes and terraces falling to
the deep levels of the Anduin. At its furthest point from the Great Gate of the
City, north-eastward, the wall was four leagues distant, and there from a
frowning bank it overlooked the long flats beside the river, and men had made it
high and strong; for at that point, upon a walled causeway, the road came in
from the fords and bridges of Osgiliath and passed through a guarded gate
between embattled towers. At its nearest point the wall was little more than one
league from the City, and that was south-eastward. There Anduin, going in a wide
knee about the hills of Emyn Arnen in South Ithilien, bent sharply west, and the
out-wall rose upon its very brink; and beneath it lay the quays and landings of
the Harlond for craft that came upstream from the southern fiefs.

The townlands were rich, with wide tilth and many orchards, and homesteads
there were with oast and garner, fold and byre, and many rills rippling through
the green from the highlands down to Anduin. Yet the herdsmen and husbandmen
that dwelt there were not many, and the most part of the people of Gondor lived
in the seven circles of the City, or in the high vales of the mountain-borders,
in Lossarnach, or further south in fair Lebennin with its five swift streams.
There dwelt a hardy folk between the mountains and the sea. They were reckoned
men of Gondor, yet their blood was mingled, and there were short and swarthy
folk among them whose sires came more from the forgotten men who housed in the
shadow of the hills in the Dark Years ere the coming of the kings. But beyond,
in the great fief of Belfalas, dwelt Prince Imrahil in his castle of Dol Amroth
by the sea, and he was of high blood, and his folk also, tall men and proud with
sea-grey eyes.

Now after Gandalf had ridden for some time the light of day grew in the sky,
and Pippin roused himself and looked up. To his left lay a sea of mist, rising
to a bleak shadow in the East; but to his right great mountains reared their
heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of
the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a mighty
valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. And there where the
White Mountains of Ered Nimrais came to their end he saw, as Gandalf had
promised, the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high
glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day. And upon its out-thrust
knee was the Guarded City, with its seven walls of stone so strong and old that
it seemed to have been not builded but carven by giants out of the bones of the
earth.

Even as Pippin gazed in wonder the walls passed from looming grey to white,
blushing faintly in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern
shadow and sent forth a shaft that smote the face of the City. Then Pippin cried
aloud, for the Tower of Ecthelion, standing high within the topmost walls’
shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, tall and
fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals;
and white banners broke and fluttered from the battlements in the morning
breeze’ and high and far he heard a clear ringing as of silver trumpets.

So Gandalf and Peregrin rode to the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor at the
rising of the sun, and its iron doors rolled back before them.

‘Mithrandir! Mithrandir!’ men cried. ‘Now we know that the storm is
indeed nigh!’

‘It is upon you,’ said Gandalf. ‘I have ridden on its wings. Let me
pass! I must come to your Lord Denethor, while his stewardship lasts. Whatever
betide, you have come to the end of the Gondor that you have known. Let me
pass!’

Then men fell back before the command of his voice and questioned him no
further, though they gazed in wonder at the hobbit that sat before him and at
the horse that bore him. For the people of the City used horses very little and
they were seldom seen in their streets, save only those ridden by the
errand-riders of their lord. And they said: ‘Surely that is one of the great
steeds of the King of Rohan? Maybe the Rohirrim will come soon to strengthen
us.’ But Shadowfax walked proudly up the long winding road.

For the fashion of Minas Tirith was such that it was built on seven levels,
each delved into the hill, and about each was set a wall, and in each wall was a
gate. But the gates were not set in a line: the Great Gate in the City Wall was
at the east point of the circuit, but the next faced half south, and the third
half north, and so to and fro upwards; so that the paved way that climbed
towards the Citadel turned first this way and then that across the face of the
hill. And each time that it passed the line of the Great Gate it went through an
arched tunnel, piercing a vast pier of rock whose huge out-thrust bulk divided
in two all the circles of the City save the first. For partly in the primeval
shaping of the hill, partly by the mighty craft and labour of old, there stood
up from the rear of the wide court behind the Gate a towering bastion of stone,
its edge sharp as a ship-keel facing east. Up it rose, even to the level of the
topmost circle, and there was crowned by a battlement; so that those in the
Citadel might, like mariners in a mountainous ship, look from its peak sheer
down upon the Gate seven hundred feet below. The entrance to the Citadel also
looked eastward, but was delved in the heart of the rock; thence a long lamp-lit
slope ran up to the seventh gate. Thus men reached at last the High Court, and
the Place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower: tall and shapely,
fifty fathoms from its base to the pinnacle, where the banner of the Stewards
floated a thousand feet above the plain.

A strong citadel it was indeed, and not to be taken by a host of enemies, if
there were any within that could hold weapons; unless some foe could come behind
and scale the lower skirts of Mindolluin, and so come upon the narrow shoulder
that joined the Hill of Guard to the mountain mass. But that shoulder, which
rose to the height of the fifth wall, was hedged with great ramparts right up to
the precipice that overhung its western end; and in that space stood the houses
and domed tombs of bygone kings and lords, for ever silent between the mountain
and the tower.

Pippin gazed in growing wonder at the great stone city, vaster and more
splendid than anything that he had dreamed of; greater and stronger than
Isengard, and far more beautiful. Yet it was in truth falling year by year into
decay; and already it lacked half the men that could have dwelt at ease there.
In every street they passed some great house or court over whose doors and
arched gates were carved many fair letters of strange and ancient shapes: names
Pippin guessed of great men and kindreds that had once dwelt there; and yet now
they were silent, and no footsteps rang on their wide pavements, nor voice was
heard in their halls, nor any face looked out from door or empty window.

At last they came out of shadow to the seventh gate, and the warm sun that
shone down beyond the river, as Frodo walked in the glades of Ithilien, glowed
here on the smooth walls and rooted pillars, and the great arch with keystone
carven in the likeness of a crowned and kingly head. Gandalf dismounted, for no
horse was allowed in the Citadel, and Shadowfax suffered himself to be led away
at the soft word of his master.

The Guards of the gate were robed in black, and their helms were of strange
shape, high-crowned, with long cheek-guards close-fitting to the face, and above
the cheek-guards were set the white wings of sea-birds; but the helms gleamed
with a flame of silver, for they were indeed wrought of mithril,
heirlooms from the glory of old days. Upon the black surcoats were embroidered
in white a tree blossoming like snow beneath a silver crown and many-pointed
stars. This was the livery of the heirs of Elendil, and none wore it now in all
Gondor, save the Guards of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain where
the White Tree once had grown.

Already it seemed that word of their coming had gone before them: and at once
they were admitted, silently, and without question. Quickly Gandalf strode
across the white-paved court. A sweet fountain played there in the morning sun,
and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in the midst. drooping over the
pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and
broken branches back into the clear water.

Pippin glanced at it as he hurried after Gandalf. It looked mournful, he
thought, and he wondered why the dead tree was left in this place where
everything else was well tended.

Seven stars and seven stones and one white tree.

The words that Gandalf had murmured came back into his mind. And then he
found himself at the doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower; and
behind the wizard he passed the tall silent door-wardens and entered the cool
echoing shadows of the house of stone.

They walked down a paved passage, long and empty, and as they went Gandalf
spoke softly to Pippin. ‘Be careful of your words, Master Peregrin! This is no
time for hobbit pertness. Théoden is a kindly old man. Denethor is
of another sort, proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage and power,
though he is not called a king. But he will speak most to you, and question you
much, since you can tell him of his son Boromir. He loved him greatly: too much
perhaps; and the more so because they were unlike. But under cover of this love
he will think it easier to learn what he witches from you rather than from me.
Do not tell him more than you need, and leave quiet the matter of Frodo’s
errand. I will deal with that in due time. And say nothing about Aragorn either,
unless you must.’

‘Why not? What is wrong with Strider?’ Pippin whispered. ‘He meant to
come here, didn’t he? And he’ll be arriving soon himself anyway.’

‘Maybe, maybe,’ said Gandalf. ‘Though if he comes, it is likely to be
in some way that no one expects, not even Denethor. It will be better so. At
least he should come unheralded by us.’

Gandalf halted before a tall door of polished metal. ‘See, Master Pippin,
there is no time to instruct you now in the history of Gondor; though it might
have been better, if you had learned something of it, when you were still
birds-nesting and playing truant in the woods of the Shire. Do as I bid! It is
scarcely wise when bringing the news of the death of his heir to a mighty lord
to speak over much of the coming of one who will, if he comes, claim the
kingship. Is that enough?’

‘Kingship?’ said Pippin amazed.

‘Yes,’ said Gandalf. ‘If you have walked all these days with closed
ears and mind asleep, wake up now!’ He knocked on the door.

The door opened, but no one could be seen to open it. Pippin looked into a
great hall. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond
the rows of tall pillars that upheld the roof. Monoliths of black marble, they
rose to great capitals carved in many strange figures of beasts and leaves; and
far above in shadow the wide vaulting gleamed with dull gold, inset with flowing
traceries of many colours. No hangings nor storied webs, nor any things of woven
stuff or of wood, were to be seen in that long solemn hall; but between the
pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone.

Suddenly Pippin was reminded of the hewn rocks of Argonath, and awe fell on
him, as he looked down that avenue of kings long dead. At the far end upon a
dais of many steps was set a high throne under a canopy of marble shaped like a
crowned helm; behind it was carved upon the wall and set with gems an image of a
tree in flower. But the throne was empty. At the foot of the dais, upon the
lowest step which was broad and deep, there was a stone chair, black and
unadorned, and on it sat an old man gazing at his lap. In his hand was a white
rod with a golden knob. He did not look up. Solemnly they paced the long floor
towards him, until they stood three paces from his footstool. Then Gandalf
spoke.

‘Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion! I am
come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour.’

Then the old man looked up. Pippin saw his carven face with its proud bones
and skin like ivory, and the long curved nose between the dark deep eyes; and he
was reminded not so much of Boromir as of Aragorn. ‘Dark indeed is the
hour,’ said the old man, ‘and at such times you are wont to come,
Mithrandir. But though all the signs forebode that the doom of Gondor is drawing
nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness. It has been told to
me that you bring with you one who saw my son die. Is this he?’

‘It is,’ said Gandalf. ‘One of the twain. The other is with Théoden
of Rohan and may come hereafter. Halflings they are, as you see, yet this is not
he of whom the omens spoke.’

‘Yet a Halfling still,’ said Denethor grimly, ‘and little love do I
bear the name, since those accursed words came to trouble our counsels and drew
away my son on the wild errand to his death. My Boromir! Now we have need of
you. Faramir should have gone in his stead.’

‘He would have gone,’ said Gandalf. ‘Be not unjust in your grief!
Boromir claimed the errand and would not suffer any other to have it. He was a
masterful man, and one to take what he desired. I journeyed far with him and
learned much of his mood. But you speak of his death. You have had news of that
ere we came?’

‘I have received this,’ said Denethor, and laying down his rod he lifted
from his lap the thing that he had been gazing at. In each hand he held up one
half of a great horn cloven through the middle: a wild-ox horn bound with
silver.

‘That is the horn that Boromir always wore!’ cried Pippin.

‘Verily,’ said Denethor. ‘And in my turn I
bore it, and so did each eldest son of our house, far back into the vanished
years before the failing of the kings, since Vorondil father of Mardil hunted
the wild kine of Araw in the far fields of Rhûn. I heard it blowing dim
upon the northern marches thirteen days ago, and the River brought it to
me, broken: it will wind no more.’ He paused and there was a heavy silence.
Suddenly he turned his black glance upon Pippin. ‘What say you to that,
Halfling?’

‘Thirteen, thirteen days,’ faltered Pippin. ‘Yes, I think that would be
so. Yes, I stood beside him, as he blew the horn. But no help came. Only more
orcs.’

‘So,’ said Denethor, looking keenly at Pippin’s face. ‘You were
there? Tell me more! Why did no help come? And how did you escape, and yet he
did not, so mighty a man as he was, and only orcs to withstand him?’

Pippin flushed and forgot his fear. ‘The mightiest man may be slain by one
arrow,’ he said; ‘and Boromir was pierced by many. When last I saw him he
sank beside a tree and plucked a black-feathered shaft from his side. Then I
swooned and was made captive. I saw him no more, and know no more. But I honour
his memory, for he was very valiant. He died to save us, my kinsman Meriadoc and
myself, waylaid in the woods by the soldiery of the Dark Lord; and though he
fell and failed, my gratitude is none the less.’

Then Pippin looked the old man in the eye, for pride stirred strangely within
him, still stung by the scorn and suspicion in that cold voice. ‘Little
service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a
halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment
of my debt.’ Twitching aside his grey cloak, Pippin drew forth his small sword
and laid it at Denethor’s feet.

A pale smile, like a gleam of cold sun on a winter’s evening, passed over
the old man’s face; but he bent his head and held out his hand, laying the
shards of the horn aside. ‘Give me the weapon!’ he said.

Pippin lifted it and presented the hilt to him. ‘Whence came this?’ said
Denethor. ‘Many, many years lie on it. Surely this is a blade wrought by our
own kindred in the North in the deep past?’

‘It came out of the mounds that lie on the borders of my country ‘ said
Pippin. ‘But only evil wights dwell there now, and I will not willingly tell
more of them.’

‘I see that strange tales are woven about you,’ said Denethor, ‘and
once again it is shown that looks may belie the man - or the halfling. I accept
your service. For you are not daunted by words; and you have courteous speech,
strange though the sound of it may be to us in the South. And we shall have need
of all folk of courtesy, be they great or small, in the days to come. Swear to
me now!’

‘Take the hilt,’ said Gandalf, ‘and speak after the Lord, if you are
resolved on this.’

‘I am,’ said Pippin.

The old man laid the sword along his lap, and Pippin put his hand to the
hilt, and said slowly after Denethor:

‘Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward
of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go,
in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour
henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say
I, Peregrin son of Paladin of the Shire of the Halflings.’

And this do I hear, Denethor son of Ecthelion, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the
High King, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given:
fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance.’ Then
Pippin received back his sword and put it in its sheath.

‘And now,’ said Denethor, ‘my first command to you: speak and be not
silent! Tell me your full tale, and see that you recall all that you can of
Boromir, my son. Sit now and begin!’ As he spoke he struck a small silver gong
that stood near his footstool, and at once servants came forward. Pippin saw
then that they had been standing in alcoves on either side of the door, unseen
as he and Gandalf entered.

‘Bring wine and food and seats for the guests,’ said Denethor, ‘and see
that none trouble us for one hour.’

‘It is all that I have to spare, for there is much else to heed,’ he said
to Gandalf. ‘Much of more import, it may seem, and yet to me less pressing.
But maybe we can speak again at the end of the day.’

‘And earlier, it is to be hoped,’ said
Gandalf. ‘For I have not ridden hither from Isengard, one hundred and fifty
leagues, with the speed of wind, only to bring you one small warrior, however
courteous. Is it naught to you that Théoden has fought a great battle and
that Isengard is overthrown, and that I have broken the staff of
Saruman?’

‘It is much to me. But I know already sufficient of these deeds for my own
counsel against the menace of the East.’ He turned his dark eyes on Gandalf,
and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between
them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire, drawn from eye to eye,
that might suddenly burst into flame.

Denethor looked indeed much more like a great wizard than Gandalf did, more
kingly, beautiful, and powerful; and older. Yet by a sense other than sight
Pippin perceived that Gandalf had the greater power and the deeper wisdom, and a
majesty that was veiled. And he was older, far older. ‘How much older?’ he
wondered, and then he thought how odd it was that he had never thought about it
before. Treebeard had said something about wizards, but even then he had not
thought of Gandalf as one of them. What was Gandalf? In what far time and place
did he come into the world, and when would he leave it? And then his musings
broke off, and he saw that Denethor and Gandalf still looked each other in the
eye, as if reading the other’s mind. But it was Denethor who first withdrew
his gaze.

‘Yea,’ he said; ‘for though the Stones be lost, they say, still the
lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to
them. But sit now!’

Then men came bearing a chair and a low stool, and one brought a salver with
a silver flagon and cups, and white cakes. Pippin sat down, but he could not
take his eyes from the old lord. Was it so, or had he only imagined it, that as
he spoke of the Stones a sudden gleam of his eye had glanced upon Pippin’s
face?

Pippin never forgot that hour in the great hall under the piercing eye of the
Lord of Gondor, stabbed ever and anon by his shrewd questions, and all the while
conscious of Gandalf at his side, watching and listening, and (so Pippin felt)
holding in check a rising wrath and impatience. When the hour was over and
Denethor again rang the gong, Pippin felt worn out. ‘It cannot be more than
nine o’clock,’ he thought. ‘I could now eat three breakfasts on end.’

‘Lead the Lord Mithrandir to the housing prepared for him,’ said
Denethor, ‘and his companion may lodge with him for the present, if he will.
But be it known that I have now sworn him to my service, and he shall be known
as Peregrin son of Paladin and taught the lesser pass-words. Send word to the
Captains that they shall wait on me here, as soon as may be after the third hour
has rung.

‘And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None
shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of
sleep. Let your wrath at an old man’s folly run off and then return to my
comfort!’

‘Folly?’ said Gandalf. ‘Nay, my lord, when you are a dotard you will
die. You can use even your grief as a cloak. Do you think that I do not
understand your purpose in questioning for an hour one who knows the least,
while I sit by?’

‘If you understand it, then be content,’ returned Denethor. ‘Pride
would be folly that disdained help and counsel at need; but you deal out such
gifts according to your own designs. Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made
the tool of other men’s purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no
purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the
rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man’s, unless the king should
come again.’

‘Unless the king should come again?’ said Gandalf. ‘Well, my lord
Steward, it is your task to keep some kingdom still against that event, which
few now look to see. In that task you shall have all the aid that you are
pleased to ask for. But I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither
of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril
as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I shall not wholly
fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this
night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come.
For I also am a steward. Did you not know?’ And with that he turned and strode
from the hall with Pippin running at his side.

Gandalf did not look at Pippin or speak a word to him as they went. Their
guide brought them from the doors of the hall, and then led them across the
Court of the Fountain into a lane between tall buildings of stone. After several
turns they came to a house close to the wall of the citadel upon the north side,
not far from the shoulder that linked the hill with the mountain. Within, upon
the first floor above the street, up a wide carven stair, he showed them to a
fair room, light and airy, with goodly hangings of dull gold sheen unfigured. It
was sparely furnished, having but a small table, two chairs and a bench; but at
either side there were curtained alcoves and well-clad beds within with vessels
and basins for washing. There were three high narrow windows that looked
northward over the great curve of Anduin, still shrouded in mists, towards the
Emyn Muil and Rauros far away. Pippin had to climb on the bench to look out over
the deep stone sill.

‘Are you angry with me, Gandalf?’ he said, as their guide went out and
closed the door. ‘I did the best I could.’

‘You did indeed!’ said Gandalf, laughing suddenly; and he came and stood
beside Pippin, putting his arm about the hobbit’s shoulders and gazing out of
the window. Pippin glanced in some wonder at the face now close beside his own,
for the sound of that laugh had been gay and merry. Yet in the wizard’s face
he saw at first only lines of care and sorrow; though as he looked more intently
he perceived that under all there was a great joy: a fountain of mirth enough to
set a kingdom laughing, were it to gush forth.

‘Indeed you did your best,’ said the wizard; ‘and I hope that it may be
long before you find yourself in such a tight corner again between two such
terrible old men. Still the Lord of Gondor learned more from you than you may
have guessed, Pippin. You could not hide the fact that Boromir did not lead the
Company from Moria, and that there was one among you of high honour who was
coming to Minas Tirith; and that he had a famous sword. Men think much about the
stories of old days in Gondor; and Denethor has given long thought to the rhyme
and to the words Isildur’s Bane, since Boromir went away.

‘He is not as other men of this time, Pippin, and whatever be his descent
from father to son, by some chance the blood of Westernesse runs nearly true in
him; as it does in his other son, Faramir, and yet did not in Boromir whom he
loved best. He has long sight. He can perceive, if he bends his will thither,
much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwell far off.
It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try.

‘Remember that! For you are now sworn to his service. I do not know what
put it into your head, or your heart, to do that. But it was well done. I did
not hinder it, for generous deed should not be checked by cold counsel. It
touched his heart, as well (may I say it) as pleasing his humour. And at least
you are free now to move about as you will in Minas Tirith - when you are not on
duty. For there is another side to it. You are at his command; and he will not
forget. Be wary still!’

He fell silent and sighed. ‘Well, no need to brood on what tomorrow may
bring. For one thing, tomorrow will be certain to bring worse than today, for
many days to come. And there is nothing more that I can do to help it. The board
is set, and the pieces are moving. One piece that I greatly desire to find is
Faramir, now the heir of Denethor. I do not think that he is in the City; but I
have had no time to gather news. I must go. Pippin. I must go to this lords’
council and learn what I can. But the Enemy has the move, and he is about to
open his full game. And pawns are likely to see as much of it as any, Peregrin
son of Paladin, soldier of Gondor. Sharpen your blade!’

Gandalf went to the door, and there he turned. ‘I am in haste Pippin,’ he
said. ‘Do me a favour when you go out. Even before you rest, if you are not
too weary. Go and find Shadowfax and see how he is housed. These people are
kindly to beasts, for they are a good and wise folk, but they have less skill
with horses than some.’

With that Gandalf went out; and as he did so, there came the note of a clear
sweet bell ringing in a tower of the citadel. Three strokes it rang, like silver
in the air, and ceased: the third hour from the rising of the sun.

After a minute Pippin went to the door and down the stair and looked about
the street. The sun was now shining warm and bright, and the towers and tall
houses cast long clear-cut shadows westward. High in the blue air Mount
Mindolluin lifted its white helm and snowy cloak. Armed men went to and fro in
the ways of the City, as if going at the striking of the hour to changes of post
and duty.

‘Nine o’clock we’d call it in the Shire,’ said Pippin aloud to
himself. ‘Just the time for a nice breakfast by the open window in spring
sunshine. And how I should like breakfast! Do these people ever have it, or is
it over? And when do they have dinner, and where?’

Presently he noticed a man, clad in black and white, coming along the narrow
street from the centre of the citadel towards him. Pippin felt lonely and made
up his mind to speak as the man passed; but he had no need. The man came
straight up to him.

‘You are Peregrin the Halfling?’ he said. ‘I am told that you have been
sworn to the service of the Lord and of the City. Welcome! He held out his hand
and Pippin took it.

‘I am named Beregond son of Baranor. I have no duty this morning, and I
have been sent to you to teach you the pass-words, and to tell you some of the
many things that no doubt you will wish to know. And for my part, I would learn
of you also. For never before have we seen a halfling in this land and though we
have heard rumour of them, little is said of them in any tale that we know.
Moreover you are a friend of Mithrandir. Do you know him well?’

‘Well,’ said Pippin. ‘I have known of him all my short life, as
you might say; and lately I have travelled far with him. But there is much to
read in that book, and I cannot claim to have seen more than a page or two. Yet
perhaps I know him as well as any but a few. Aragorn was the only one of our
Company, I think, who really knew him.’

‘Aragorn?’ said Beregond. ‘Who is he?’

‘Oh,’ stammered Pippin, ‘he was a man who went about with us. I think
he is in Rohan now.’

‘You have been in Rohan, I hear. There is much that I would ask you of that
land also; for we put much of what little hope we have in its people. But I am
forgetting my errand, which was first to answer what you would ask. What would
you know, Master Peregrin?’

‘Er well,’ said Pippin, ‘if I may venture to say so, rather a burning
question in my mind at present is, well, what about breakfast and all that? I
mean, what are the meal-times, if you understand me, and where is the
dining-room, if there is one? And the inns? I looked, but never a one could I
see as we rode up, though I had been borne up by the hope of a draught of ale as
soon as we came to the homes of wise and courtly men.’

Beregond looked at him gravely. ‘An old campaigner, I see,’ he said.
‘They say that men who go warring afield look ever to the next hope of food
and of drink; though I am not a travelled man myself. Then you have not yet
eaten today?’

‘Well, yes, to speak in courtesy, yes,’ said Pippin. ‘But no more than
a cup of wine and a white cake or two by the kindness of your lord; but he
racked me for it with an hour of questions, and that is hungry work.’

Beregond laughed. ‘At the table small men may do the greater deeds, we say.
But you have broken your fast as well as any man in the Citadel, and with
greater honour. This is a fortress and a tower of guard and is now in posture of
war. We rise ere the Sun, and take a morsel in the grey light, and go to our
duties at the opening hour. But do not despair!’ He laughed again, seeing the
dismay in Pippin’s face. ‘Those who have had heavy duty take somewhat to
refresh their strength in the mid-morning. Then there is the nuncheon, at noon
or after as duties allow; and men gather for the daymeal, and such mirth as
there still may be, about the hour of sunset.

‘Come! We will walk a little and then go find us some refreshment, and eat
and drink on the battlement, and survey the fair morning.’

‘One moment!’ said Pippin blushing. ‘Greed, or hunger by your courtesy,
put it out of my mind. But Gandalf, Mithrandir as you call him, asked me to see
to his horse - Shadowfax, a great steed of Rohan, and the apple of the king’s
eye, I am told, though he has given him to Mithrandir for his services. I think
his new master loves the beast better than he loves many men, and if his good
will is of any value to this city, you will treat Shadowfax with all honour:
with greater kindness than you have treated this hobbit, if it is possible.’

‘Hobbit?’ said Beregond.

‘That is what we call ourselves,’ said Pippin.

‘I am glad to learn it,’ said Beregond, ‘for now I may say that strange
accents do not mar fair speech, and hobbits are a fair-spoken folk. But come!
You shall make me acquainted with this good horse. I love beasts, and we see
them seldom in this stony city; for my people came from the mountain-vales, and
before that from Ithilien. But fear not! The visit shall be short, a mere call
of courtesy, and we will go thence to the butteries.’

Pippin found that Shadowfax had been well housed and tended. For in the sixth
circle, outside the walls of the citadel, there were some fair stables where a
few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodgings of the errand-riders of the
Lord: messengers always ready to go at the urgent command of Denethor or his
chief captains. But now all the horses and the riders were out and away.

Shadowfax whinnied as Pippin entered the stable and turned his head. ‘Good
morning!’ said Pippin. ‘Gandalf will come as soon as he may. He is busy, but
he sends greetings, and I am to see that all is well with you; and you resting,
I hope, after your long labours.’

Shadowfax tossed his head and stamped. But he allowed Beregond to handle his
head gently and stroke his great flanks.

‘He looks as if he were spoiling for a race, and not newly come from a
great journey,’ said Beregond. ‘How strong and proud he is! Where is his
harness? It should be rich and fair.’

‘None is rich and fair enough for him,’ said Pippin. ‘He will have
none. If he will consent to bear you, bear you he does; and if not, well, no
bit, bridle, whip, or thong will tame him. Farewell, Shadowfax! Have patience.
Battle is coming.’

Shadowfax lifted up his head and neighed, so that the stable shook, and they
covered their ears. Then they took their leave, seeing that the manger was well
filled.

‘And now for our manger,’ said Beregond, and he led Pippin back to the
citadel, and so to a door in the north side of the great tower. There they went
down a long cool stair into a wide alley lit with lamps. There were hatches in
the walls at the side, and one of these was open.

‘This is the storehouse and buttery of my company of the Guard.’ said
Beregond. ‘Greetings, Targon!’ he called through the hatch. ‘It is early
yet, but here is a newcomer that the Lord has taken into his service. He has
ridden long and far with a tight belt, and has had sore labour this morning, and
he is hungry. Give us what you have!’

They got there bread, and butter, and cheese and apples: the last of the
winter store, wrinkled but sound and sweet; and a leather flagon of new-drawn
ale, and wooden platters and cups. They put all into a wicker basket and climbed
back into the sun; and Beregond brought Pippin to a place at the east end of the
great out-thrust battlement where there was an embrasure in the walls with a
stone seat beneath the sill. From there they could look out on the morning over
the world.

They ate and drank; and they talked now of Gondor and its ways and customs,
now of the Shire and the strange countries that Pippin had seen. And ever as
they talked Beregond was more amazed, and looked with greater wonder at the
hobbit, swinging his short legs as he sat on the seat, or standing tiptoe upon
it to peer over the sill at the lands below.

‘I will not hide from you, Master Peregrin,’ said Beregond, ‘that to us
you look almost as one of our children, a lad of nine summers or so; and yet you
have endured perils and seen marvels that few of our greybeards could boast of.
I thought it was the whim of our Lord to take him a noble page, after the manner
of the kings of old, they say. But I see that it is not so, and you must pardon
my foolishness.’

‘I do,’ said Pippin. ‘Though you are not far wrong. I am still little
more than a boy in the reckoning of my own people, and it will be four years yet
before I “come of age”, as we say in the Shire: But do not bother about me.
Come and look and tell me what I can see.’

The sun was now climbing, and the mists in the vale below had been drawn up.
The last of them were floating away, just overhead, as wisps of white cloud
borne on the stiffening breeze from the East, that was now flapping and tugging
the flags and white standards of the citadel. Away down in the valley-bottom,
five leagues or so as the eye leaps, the Great River could now be seen grey and
glittering, coming out of the north-west, and bending in a mighty sweep south
and west again, till it was lost to view in a haze and shimmer, far beyond which
lay the Sea fifty leagues away.

Pippin could see all the Pelennor laid out before him, dotted into the
distance with farmsteads and little walls, barns and byres, but nowhere could he
see any kine or other beasts. Many roads and tracks crossed the green fields,
and there was much coming and going: wains moving in lines towards the Great
Gate, and others passing out. Now and again a horseman would ride up, and leap
from the saddle and hasten into the City. But most of the traffic went out along
the chief highway, and that turned south, and then bending swifter than the
River skirted the hills and passed soon from sight. It was wide and well-paved,
and along its eastern edge ran a broad green riding-track, and beyond that a
wall. On the ride horsemen galloped to and fro, but all the street seemed to be
choked with great covered wains going south. But soon Pippin saw that all was in
fact well-ordered: the wains were moving in three lines, one swifter drawn by
horses; another slower, great waggons with fair housings of many colours, drawn
by oxen; and along the west rim of the road many smaller carts hauled by
trudging men.

‘That is the road to the vales of Tumladen and Lossarnach, and the
mountain-villages, and then on to Lebennin,’ said Beregond. ‘There go the
last of the wains that bear away to refuge the aged the children, and the women
that must go with them. They must all be gone from the Gate and the road clear
for a league before noon: that was the order. It is a sad necessity.’ He
sighed. ‘Few, maybe, of those now sundered will meet again. And there were
always too few children in this city; but now there are none-save some young
lads that will not depart, and may find some task to do: my own son is one of
them.’

They fell silent for a while. Pippin gazed anxiously eastward, as if at any
moment he might see thousands of orcs pouring over the fields. ‘What can I see
there?’ he asked, pointing down to the middle of the great curve of the
Anduin. ‘Is that another city, or what is it?’

‘It was a city,’ said Beregond, ‘the chief city of Gondor, of which
this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of
Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the
days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and
to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms. And then came the Fell Riders
out of Minas Morgul.’

‘The Black Riders?’ said Pippin, opening his eyes, and they were wide and
dark with an old fear re-awakened.

‘Yes, they were black,’ said Beregond, ‘and I see that you know
something of them, though you have not spoken of them in any of your tales.’

‘I know of them,’ said Pippin softly, ‘but I will not speak of them
now, so near, so near.’ He broke off and lifted his eyes above the River, and
it seemed to him that all he could see was a vast and threatening shadow.
Perhaps it was mountains looming on the verge of sight, their jagged edges
softened by wellnigh twenty leagues of misty air; perhaps it was but a
cloud-wall, and beyond that again a yet deeper gloom. But even as he looked it
seemed to his eyes that the gloom was growing and gathering, very slowly, slowly
rising to smother the regions of the sun.

‘So near to Mordor?’ said Beregond quietly. ‘Yes, there it lies. We
seldom name it; but we have dwelt ever in sight of that shadow: sometimes it
seems fainter and more distant; sometimes nearer and darker. It is growing and
darkening now; and therefore our fear and disquiet grow too. And the Fell
Riders, less than a year ago they won back the crossings, and many of our best
men were slain. Boromir it was that drove the enemy at last back from this
western shore, and we hold still the near half of Osgiliath. For a little while.
But we await now a new onslaught there. Maybe the chief onslaught of the war
that comes.’

‘When?’ said Pippin. ‘Have you a guess? For I saw the beacons last
night and the errand-riders; and Gandalf said that it was a sign that war had
begun. He seemed in a desperate hurry. But now everything seems to have slowed
up again.’

‘Only because everything is now ready,’ said Beregond. ‘It is but the
deep breath before the plunge.’

‘But why were the beacons lit last night?’

‘It is over-late to send for aid when you are already besieged,’ answered
Beregond. ‘But I do not know the counsel of the Lord and his captains. They
have many ways of gathering news. And the Lord Denethor is unlike other men: he
sees far. Some say that as he sits alone in his high chamber in the Tower at
night, and bends his thought this way and that, he can read somewhat of the
future; and that he will at times search even the mind of the Enemy, wrestling
with him. And so it is that he is old, worn before his time. But however that
may be, my lord Faramir is abroad, beyond the River on some perilous errand, and
he may have sent tidings.

‘But if you would know what I think set the beacons ablaze, it was the news
that came yestereve out of Lebennin. There is a great fleet drawing near to the
mouths of Anduin, manned by the corsairs of Umbar in the South. They have long
ceased to fear the might of Gondor, and they have allied them with the Enemy,
and now make a heavy stroke in his cause. For this attack will draw off much of
the help that we looked to have from Lebennin and Belfalas, where folk are hardy
and numerous. All the more do our thoughts go north to Rohan; and the more glad
are we for these tidings of victory that you bring.

‘And yet’ - he paused and stood up, and looked round, north,
east, and south - ‘the doings at Isengard should warn us that we are caught
now in a great net and strategy. This is no longer a bickering at the fords,
raiding from Ithilien and from Anórien, ambushing and pillaging. This is
a great war long-planned, and we are but one piece in it, whatever pride
may say. Things move in the far East beyond the Inland Sea, it is reported; and
north in Mirkwood and beyond; and south in Harad. And now all realms shall be
put to the test, to stand, or fall - under the Shadow.

‘Yet, Master Peregrin, we have this honour: ever we bear the brunt of the
chief hatred of the Dark Lord, for that hatred comes down out of the depths of
time and over the deeps of the Sea. Here will the hammer-stroke fall hardest.
And for that reason Mithrandir came hither in such haste. For if we fall, who
shall stand? And, Master Peregrin, do you see any hope that we shall stand?’

Pippin did not answer. He looked at the great walls, and the towers and brave
banners, and the sun in the high sky, and then at the gathering gloom in the
East; and he thought of the long fingers of that Shadow: of the orcs in the
woods and the mountains, the treason of Isengard, the birds of evil eye, and the
Black Riders even in the lanes of the Shire - and of the winged terror,
the Nazgûl. He shuddered, and hope seemed to wither. And even at that
moment the sun for a second faltered and was obscured, as though a dark wing had
passed across it. Almost beyond hearing he thought he caught, high and far up in
the heavens, a cry: faint, but heart-quelling, cruel and cold. He
blanched and cowered against the wall.

‘What was that?’ asked Beregond. ‘You also felt something?’

‘Yes,’ muttered Pippin. ‘It is the sign of our fall, and the shadow of
doom, a Fell Rider of the air.’

For a time they sat together with bowed heads and did not speak. Then
suddenly Pippin looked up and saw that the sun was still shining and the banners
still streaming in the breeze. He shook himself. ‘It is passed,’ he said.
‘No, my heart will not yet despair. Gandalf fell and has returned and is with
us. We may stand, if only on one leg, or at least be left still upon our
knees.’

‘Rightly said!’ cried Beregond, rising and striding to and fro. ‘Nay,
though all things must come utterly to an end in time, Gondor shall not perish
yet. Not though the walls be taken by a reckless foe that will build a hill of
carrion before them. There are still other fastnesses, and secret ways of escape
into the mountains. Hope and memory shall live still in some hidden valley where
the grass is green.’

‘All the same, I wish it was over for good or ill.’ said Pippin. ‘I am
no warrior at all and dislike any thought of battle; but waiting on the edge of
one that I can’t escape is worst of all. What a long day it seems already! I
should be happier, if we were not obliged to stand and watch, making no move,
striking nowhere first. No stroke would have been struck in Rohan, I think, but
for Gandalf.’

‘Ah, there you lay your finger on the sore that many feel!’ said
Beregond. ‘But things may change when Faramir returns. He is bold, more bold
than many deem; for in these days men are slow to believe that a captain can be
wise and learned in the scrolls of lore and song, as he is, and yet a man of
hardihood and swift judgement in the field. But such is Faramir. Less reckless
and eager than Boromir, but not less resolute. Yet what indeed can he do? We
cannot assault the mountains of - of yonder realm. Our reach is shortened, and
we cannot strike till some foe comes within it. Then our hand must be heavy!’
He smote the hilt of his sword.

Pippin looked at him: tall and proud and noble, as all the men that he had
yet seen in that land; and with a glitter in his eye as he thought of the
battle. ‘Alas! my own hand feels as light as a feather,’ he thought, but he
said nothing. ‘A pawn did Gandalf say? Perhaps but on the wrong chessboard.’

So they talked until the sun reached its height, and suddenly the noon-bells
were rung, and there was a stir in the citadel; for all save the watchmen were
going to their meal.

‘Will you come with me?’ said Beregond. ‘You may join my mess for this
day. I do not know to what company you will be assigned; or the Lord may hold
you at his own command. But you will be welcome. And it will be well to meet as
many men as you may, while there is yet time.’

‘I shall be glad to come,’ said Pippin. ‘I am lonely, to tell you the
truth. I left my best friend behind in Rohan, and I have had no one to talk to
or jest with. Perhaps I could really join your company? Are you the captain? If
so, you could take me on, or speak for me?’

‘Nay, nay,’ Beregond laughed, ‘I am no captain. Neither office nor rank
nor lordship have I, being but a plain man of arms of the Third Company of the
Citadel. Yet, Master Peregrin, to be only a man of arms of the Guard of the
Tower of Gondor is held worthy in the City, and such men have honour in the
land.’

‘Then it is far beyond me,’ said Pippin. ‘Take me back to our room, and
if Gandalf is not there, I will go where you like - as your guest.’

Gandalf was not in the lodging and had sent no message; so Pippin went with
Beregond and was made known to the men of the Third Company. And it seemed that
Beregond got as much honour from it as his guest, for Pippin was very welcome.
There had already been much talk in the citadel about Mithrandir’s companion
and his long closeting with the Lord; and rumour declared that a Prince of the
Halflings had come out of the North to offer allegiance to Gondor and five
thousand swords. And some said that when the Riders came from Rohan each would
bring behind him a halfling warrior, small maybe, but doughty.

Though Pippin had regretfully to destroy this hopeful tale, he could not be
rid of his new rank, only fitting, men thought, to one befriended by Boromir and
honoured by the Lord Denethor; and they thanked him for coming among them, and
hung on his words and stories of the outlands, and gave him as much food and ale
as he could wish. Indeed his only trouble was to be ‘wary’ according to the
counsel of Gandalf, and not to let his tongue wag freely after the manner of a
hobbit among friends.

At length Beregond rose. ‘Farewell for this time!’ he said. ‘I have
duty now till sundown, as have all the others here, I think. But if you are
lonely, as you say, maybe you would like a merry guide about the City. My son
would go with you gladly. A good lad, I may say. If that pleases you, go down to
the lowest circle and ask for the Old Guesthouse in the Rath Celerdain, the
Lampwrights’ Street. You will find him there with other lads that are
remaining in the City. There may be things worth seeing down at the Great Gate
ere the closing.’

He went out, and soon after all the others followed. The day was still fine,
though it was growing hazy, and it was hot for March, even so far southwards.
Pippin felt sleepy, but the lodging seemed cheerless, and he decided to go down
and explore the City. He took a few morsels that he had saved to Shadowfax, and
they were graciously accepted, though the horse seemed to have no lack. Then he
walked on down many winding ways.

People stared much as he passed. To his face men were gravely courteous,
saluting him after the manner of Gondor with bowed head and hands upon the
breast; but behind him he heard many calls, as those out of doors cried to
others within to come and see the Prince of the Halflings, the companion of
Mithrandir. Many used some other tongue than the Common Speech, but it was not
long before he learned at least what was meant by Ernil i Pheriannath and
knew that his title had gone down before him into the City.

He came at last by arched streets and many fair alleys and pavements to the
lowest and widest circle, and there he was directed to the Lampwrights’
Street, a broad way running towards the Great Gate. In it he found the Old
Guesthouse, a large building of grey weathered stone with two wings running back
from the street, and between them a narrow greensward, behind which was the
many-windowed house, fronted along its whole width by a pillared porch and a
flight of steps down on to the grass. Boys were playing among the pillars, the
only children that Pippin had seen in Minas Tirith, and he stopped to look at
them. Presently one of them caught sight of him, and with a shout he sprang
across the grass and came into the street, followed by several others. There he
stood in front of Pippin, looking him up and down.

‘Greetings!’ said the lad. ‘Where do you come from? You are a stranger
in the City.’

‘I was,’ said Pippin; ‘but they say I have become a man of Gondor.’

‘Oh come!’ said the lad. ‘Then we are all men here. But how old are
you, and what is your name? I am ten years already, and shall soon be five feet.
I am taller than you. But then my father is a Guard, one of the tallest. What is
your father?’

‘Which question shall I answer first?’ said Pippin. ‘My father farms
the lands round Whitwell near Tuckborough in the Shire. I am nearly twenty-nine,
so I pass you there; though I am but four feet, and not likely to grow any more,
save sideways.’

‘Twenty-nine!’ said the lad and whistled. ‘Why, you are quite old! As
old as my uncle Iorlas. Still,’ he added hopefully, ‘I wager I could stand
you on your head or lay you on your back.’

‘Maybe you could, if I let you,’ said Pippin with a laugh. ‘And maybe I
could do the same to you: we know some wrestling tricks in my little country.
Where, let me tell you, I am considered uncommonly large and strong; and I have
never allowed anyone to stand me on my head. So if it came to a trial and
nothing else would serve, I might have to kill you. For when you are older, you
will learn that folk are not always what they seem; and though you may have
taken me for a soft stranger-lad and easy prey, let me warn you: I am not, I am
a halfling, hard, bold, and wicked!’ Pippin pulled such a grim face that the
boy stepped back a pace, but at once he returned with clenched fists and the
light of battle in his eye.

‘No!’ Pippin laughed. ‘Don’t believe what strangers say of themselves
either! I am not a fighter. But it would be politer in any case for the
challenger to say who he is.’

The boy drew himself up proudly. ‘I am Bergil son of Beregond of the
Guards,’ he said.

‘So I thought,’ said Pippin, ‘for you look like your father. I know him
and he sent me to find you.’

‘Then why did you not say so at once?’ said Bergil, and suddenly a look
of dismay came over his face. ‘Do not tell me that he has changed his mind,
and will send me away with the maidens! But no, the last wains have gone.’

‘His message is less bad than that, if not good.’ said Pippin. ‘He says
that if you would prefer it to standing me on my head, you might show me round
the City for a while and cheer my loneliness. I can tell you some tales of far
countries in return.’

Bergil clapped his hands, and laughed with relief. ‘All is well,’ he
cried. ‘Come then! We were soon going to the Gate to look on. We will go
now.’

‘What is happening there?’

‘The Captains of the Outlands are expected up the South Road ere sundown.
Come with us and you will see.’

Bergil proved a good comrade, the best company Pippin had had since he parted
from Merry, and soon they were laughing and talking gaily as they went about the
streets, heedless of the many glances that men gave them. Before long they found
themselves in a throng going towards the Great Gate. There Pippin went up much
in the esteem of Bergil, for when he spoke his name and the pass-word the guard
saluted him and let him pass through; and what was more, he allowed him to take
his companion with him.

‘That is good!’ said Bergil. ‘We boys are no longer allowed to pass the
Gate without an elder. Now we shall see better.’

Beyond the Gate there was a crowd of men along the verge of the road and of
the great paved space into which all the ways to Minas Tirith ran. All eyes were
turned southwards, and soon a murmur rose: ‘There is dust away there! They are
coming!’

Pippin and Bergil edged their way forward to the front of the crowd, and
waited. Horns sounded at some distance, and the noise of cheering rolled towards
them like a gathering wind. Then there was a loud trumpet-blast, and all about
them people were shouting.

‘Forlong! Forlong!’ Pippin heard men calling. ‘What do they say?’ he
asked.

‘Forlong has come,’ Bergil answered; ‘old Forlong the Fat, the Lord of
Lossarnach. That is where my grandsire lives. Hurrah! Here he is. Good old
Forlong!’

Leading the line there came walking a big thick-limbed horse, and on it sat a
man of wide shoulders and huge girth, but old and grey-bearded, yet mail-clad
and black-helmed and bearing a long heavy spear. Behind him marched proudly a
dusty line of men, well-armed and bearing great battle-axes; grim-faced they
were, and shorter and somewhat swarthier than any men that Pippin had yet seen
in Gondor.

‘Forlong!’ men shouted. ‘True heart, true friend! Forlong!’ But when
the men of Lossarnach had passed they muttered: ‘So few! Two hundreds, what
are they? We hoped for ten times the number. That will be the new tidings of the
black fleet. They are sparing only a tithe of their strength. Still every little
is a gain.’

And so the companies came and were hailed and cheered and passed through the
Gate, men of the Outlands marching to defend the City of Gondor in a dark hour;
but always too few, always less than hope looked
for or need asked. The men of Ringló Vale behind the son of their lord,
Dervorin striding on foot: three hundreds. From the uplands of Morthond, the
great Blackroot Vale, tall Duinhir with his sons, Duilin and Derufin, and
five hundred bowmen. From the Anfalas, the Langstrand far away, a long line of
men of many sorts, hunters and herdsmen and men of little villages, scantily
equipped save for the household of Golasgil their lord. From Lamedon, a few grim
hillmen without a captain. Fisher-folk of the Ethir, some hundred or more spared
from the ships. Hirluin the Fair of the Green Hills from Pinnath Gelin with
three hundreds of gallant green-clad men. And last and proudest, Imrahil, Prince
of Dol Amroth, kinsman of the Lord, with gilded banners bearing his token of the
Ship and the Silver Swan, and a company of knights in full harness riding grey
horses; and behind them seven hundreds of men at arms, tall as lords, grey-eyed,
dark-haired, singing as they came.

And that was all, less than three thousands full told. No more would come.
Their cries and the tramp of their feet passed into the City and died away. The
onlookers stood silent for a while. Dust hung in the air, for the wind had died
and the evening was heavy. Already the closing hour was drawing nigh, and the
red sun had gone behind Mindolluin. Shadow came down on the City.

Pippin looked up, and it seemed to him that the sky had grown ashen-grey, as
if a vast dust and smoke hung above them, and light came dully through it. But
in the West the dying sun had set all the fume on fire, and now Mindolluin stood
black against a burning smoulder flecked with embers. ‘So ends a fair day in
wrath!’ he said forgetful of the lad at his side.

‘So it will, if I have not returned before the sundown-bells,’ said
Bergil. ‘Come! There goes the trumpet for the closing of the Gate.’

Hand in hand they went back into the City, the last to pass the Gate before
it was shut; and as they reached the Lampwrights’ Street all the bells in the
towers tolled solemnly. Lights sprang in many windows, and from the houses and
wards of the men at arms along the walls there came the sound of song.

‘Farewell for this time,’ said Bergil. ‘Take my greetings to my
:father, and thank him for the company that he sent. Come again soon, I beg.
Almost I wish now that there was no war, for we might have had some merry times.
We might have journeyed to Lossarnach, to my grandsire’s house; it is good to
be there in Spring, the woods and fields are full of flowers. But maybe we will
go thither together yet. They will never overcome our Lord, and my father is
very valiant. Farewell and return!’

They parted and Pippin hurried back towards the citadel. It seemed a long
way, and he grew hot and very hungry; and night closed down swift and dark. Not
a star pricked the sky. He was late for the daymeal in the mess, and Beregond
greeted him gladly, and sat him at his side to hear news of his son. After the
meal Pippin stayed a while, and then took his leave, for a strange gloom was on
him, and now he desired very much to see Gandalf again.

‘Can you find your way?’ said Beregond at the door of the small hall, on
the north side of the citadel, where they had sat. ‘It is a black night, and
all the blacker since orders came that lights are to be dimmed within the City,
and none are to shine out from the walls. And I can give you news of another
order: you will be summoned to the Lord Denethor early tomorrow. I fear you will
not be for the Third Company. Still we may hope to meet again. Farewell and
sleep in peace!’

The lodging was dark, save for a little lantern set on the table. Gandalf was
not there. Gloom settled still more heavily on Pippin. He climbed on the bench
and tried to peer out of a window, but it was like looking into a pool of ink.
He got down and closed the shutter and went to bed. For a while he lay and
listened for sounds of Gandalf’s return, and then he fell into an uneasy
sleep.

In the night he was wakened by a light, and he saw that Gandalf had come and
was pacing to and fro in the room beyond the curtain of the alcove. There were
candles on the table and rolls of parchment. He heard the wizard sigh, and
mutter: ‘When will Faramir return?’

‘Hullo!’ said Pippin, poking his head round the curtain. ‘I thought you
had forgotten all about me. I am glad to see you back. It has been a long
day.’

‘But the night will be too short,’ said Gandalf. ‘I have come back
here, for I must have a little peace, alone. You should sleep, in a bed while
you still may. At the sunrise I shall take you to the Lord Denethor again. No,
when the summons comes, not at sunrise. The Darkness has begun. There will be no
dawn.’

Chapter 2

The Passing of the Grey Company

Gandalf was gone, and the thudding hoofs of Shadowfax were lost in the night,
when Merry came back to Aragorn. He had only a light bundle, for he had lost his
pack at Parth Galen, and all he had was a few useful things he had picked up
among the wreckage of Isengard. Hasufel was already saddled. Legolas and Gimli
with their horse stood close by.

‘So four of the Company still remain,’ said Aragorn. ‘We will ride on
together. But we shall not go alone, as I thought. The king is now determined to
set out at once. Since the coming of the winged shadow, he desires to return to
the hills under cover of night.’

‘And then whither?’ said Legolas.

‘I cannot say yet,’ Aragorn answered. ‘As for the king, he will go to
the muster that he commanded at Edoras, four nights from now. And there, I
think, he will hear tidings of war, and the Riders of Rohan will go down to
Minas Tirith. But for myself, and any that will go with me . . .’

‘I for one!’ cried Legolas. ‘And Gimli with him!’ said the Dwarf.

‘Well, for myself,’ said Aragorn, ‘it is dark before me. I must go down
also to Minas Tirith, but I do not yet see the road. An hour long prepared
approaches.’

‘Don’t leave me behind!’ said Merry. ‘I have not been of much use
yet; but I don’t want to be laid aside, like baggage to be called for when all
is over. I don’t think the Riders will want to be bothered with me now.
Though, of course, the king did say that I was to sit by him when he came to his
house and tell him all about the Shire.’

‘Yes,’ said Aragorn, ‘and your road lies with him, I think, Merry. But
do not look for mirth at the ending. It will be long,
I fear, ere Théoden sits at ease again in Meduseld. Many hopes will
wither in this bitter Spring.’

Soon all were ready to depart: twenty-four horses, with Gimli behind Legolas,
and Merry in front of Aragorn. Presently they were riding swiftly through the
night. They had not long passed the mounds at the Fords of Isen, when a Rider
galloped up from the rear of their line.

‘My lord,’ he said to the king, ‘there are horsemen behind us. As we
crossed the fords I thought that I heard them. Now we are sure. They are
overtaking us, riding hard.’

Théoden at once called a halt. The Riders turned about and seized
their spears. Aragorn dismounted and set Merry on the ground, and drawing his
sword he stood by the king’s stirrup. Éomer and his esquire rode back
to the rear. Merry felt more like unneeded baggage than ever, and he
wondered, if there was a fight, what he should do. Supposing the king’s small
escort was trapped and overcome, but he escaped into the darkness - alone in the
wild fields of Rohan with no idea of where he was in all the endless miles?
‘No good!’ he thought. He drew his sword and tightened his belt.

The sinking moon was obscured by a great sailing cloud, but suddenly it rode
out clear again. Then they all heard the sound of hoofs, and at the same moment
they saw dark shapes coming swiftly on the path from the fords. The moonlight
glinted here and there on the points of spears. The number of the pursuers could
not be told, but they seemed no fewer than the king’s escort, at the least.

When they were some fifty paces off, Éomer
cried in a loud voice: ‘Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?’

The pursuers brought their steeds to a sudden stand. A silence followed: and
then in the moonlight, a horseman could be seen dismounting and walking slowly
forward. His hand showed white as he held it up, palm outward, in token of
peace; but the king’s men gripped their weapons. At ten paces the man stopped.
He was tall, a dark standing shadow. Then his clear voice rang out.

‘Rohan? Rohan did you say? That is a glad word. We seek that land in haste
from long afar.’

‘You have found it,’ said Éomer. ‘When you crossed the fords
yonder you entered it. But it is the realm of Théoden the King. None ride
here save by his leave. Who are you? And what is your haste?’

‘Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North
I am,’ cried the man. ‘We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard
that he was in Rohan.’

‘And you have found him also!’ cried Aragorn. Giving his reins to Merry,
he ran forward and embraced the newcomer. ‘Halbarad!’ he said. ‘Of all
joys this is the least expected!’

Merry breathed a sigh of relief. He had thought that this was some last trick
of Saruman’s, to waylay the king while he had only a few men about him; but it
seemed that there would be no need to die in Théoden’s defence,
not yet at any rate. He sheathed his sword.

‘All is well,’ said Aragorn, turning back. ‘Here are some of my own kin
from the far land where I dwelt. But why they come, and how many they be,
Halbarad shall tell us.’

‘I have thirty with me,’ said Halbarad. ‘That is all of our kindred
that could be gathered in haste; but the brethren Elladan and Elrohir have
ridden with us, desiring to go to the war. We rode as swiftly as we might when
your summons came.’

‘But I did not summon you,’ said Aragorn, ‘save only in wish. My
thoughts have often turned to you, and seldom more than tonight; yet I have sent
no word. But come! All such matters must wait. You find us riding in haste and
danger. Ride with us now, if the king will give his leave.’

Théoden was indeed glad of the news. ‘It is well!’ he said.
‘If these kinsmen be in any way like to yourself, my lord Aragorn, thirty such
knights will be a strength that cannot be counted by heads.’

Then the Riders set out again, and Aragorn for a while rode with the Dúnedain;
and when they had spoken of tidings in the North and in the South, Elrohir said
to him:

‘I bring word to you from my father: The days are short. If thou art in
haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.’

‘Always my days have seemed to me too short to achieve my desire,’
answered Aragorn. ‘But great indeed will be my haste ere I take that road.’

‘That will soon be seen,’ said Elrohir. ‘But let us speak no more of
these things upon the open road!’

And Aragorn said to Halbarad: ‘What is that that you bear, kinsman?’ For
he saw that instead of a spear he bore a tall staff, as it were a standard, but
it was close-furled in a black cloth bound about with many thongs.

‘It is a gift that I bring you from the Lady of Rivendell,’ answered
Halbarad. ‘She wrought it in secret, and long was the making. But she also
sends word to you: The days now are short. Either our hope cometh, or all
hopes end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for thee. Fare well, Elfstone!’

And Aragorn said: ‘Now I know what you bear. Bear it still for me a
while!’ And he turned and looked away to the North under the great stars, and
then he fell silent and spoke no more while the night’s journey lasted.

The night was old and the East grey when they rode up at last from
Deeping-coomb and came back to the Hornburg. There they were to lie and rest for
a brief while and take counsel.

Merry slept until he was roused by Legolas and Gimli. ‘The Sun is high,’
said Legolas. ‘All others are up and doing. Come, Master Sluggard, and look at
this place while you may!’

‘There was a battle here three nights ago,’ said Gimli, ‘and here
Legolas and I played a game that I won only by a single orc. Come and see how it
was! And there are caves, Merry, caves of wonder! Shall we visit them, Legolas,
do you think?’

‘Nay! There is no time,’ said the Elf. ‘Do not spoil the wonder with
haste! I have given you my word to return hither with you, if a day of peace and
freedom comes again. But it is now near to noon, and at that hour we eat, and
then set out again, I hear.’

Merry got up and yawned. His few hours’ sleep had not been nearly enough;
he was tired and rather dismal. He missed Pippin, and felt that he was only a
burden, while everybody was making plans for speed in a business that he did not
fully understand. ‘Where is Aragorn?’ he asked.

‘In a high chamber of the Burg,’ said Legolas. ‘He has neither rested
nor slept, I think. He went thither some hours ago, saying that he must take
thought, and only his kinsman, Halbarad, went with him; but some dark doubt or
care sits on him.’

‘They are a strange company, these newcomers,’ said Gimli. ‘Stout men
and lordly they are, and the Riders of Rohan look almost as boys beside them;
for they are grim men of face, worn like weathered rocks for the most part, even
as Aragorn himself; and they are silent.’

‘But even as Aragorn they are courteous, if they break their silence.’
said Legolas. ‘And have you marked the brethren Elladan and Elrohir? Less
sombre is their gear than the others’, and they are fair and gallant as
Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of
Rivendell.’

‘Why have they come? Have you heard?’ asked Merry. He had now dressed,
and he flung his grey cloak about his shoulders; and the three passed out
together towards the ruined gate of the Burg.

‘They answered a summons, as you heard,’ said Gimli. ‘Word came to
Rivendell, they say: Aragorn has need of his
kindred. Let the Dúnedain ride to him in Rohan! But whence
this message came they are now in doubt. Gandalf sent it, I would guess.’

‘Nay, Galadriel,’ said Legolas. ‘Did she not speak through Gandalf of
the ride of the Grey Company from the North?’

‘Yes, you have it,’ said Gimli. ‘The Lady of the Wood! She read many
hearts and desires. Now why did not we wish for some of our own kinsfolk,
Legolas?’

Legolas stood before the gate and turned his bright eyes away north and east,
and his fair face was troubled. ‘I do not think that any would come,’ he
answered. ‘They have no need to ride to war; war already marches on their own
lands.’

For a while the three companions walked together, speaking of this and that
turn of the battle, and they went down from the broken gate, and passed the
mounds of the fallen on the greensward beside the road, until they stood on
Helm’s Dike and looked into the Coomb. The Death Down already stood there,
black and tall and stony, and the great trampling and scoring of the grass by
the Huorns could be plainly seen. The Dunlendings and many men of the garrison
of the Burg were at work on the Dike or in the fields and about the battered
walls behind; yet all seemed strangely quiet: a weary valley resting after a
great storm. Soon they turned back and went to the midday meal in the hall of
the Burg.

The king was already there, and as soon as they entered he called for Merry
and had a seat set for him at his side. ‘It is not as I would have it,’ said
Théoden; ‘for this is little like my fair house in Edoras. And your
friend is gone, who should also be here. But it may be long ere we sit, you and
I, at the high table in Meduseld; there will be no time for feasting when
I return thither. But come now! Eat and drink, and let us speak together while
we may. And then you shall ride with me.’

‘May I?’ said Merry, surprised and delighted. ‘That would be
splendid!’ He had never felt more grateful for any kindness in words. ‘I am
afraid I am only in everybody’s way,’ he stammered; ‘but I should like to
do anything I could, you know.’

‘I doubt it not,’ said the king. ‘I have had a good hill-pony made
ready for you. He will bear you as swift as any
horse by the roads that we shall take. For I will ride from the Burg by mountain
paths, not by the plain, and so come to Edoras by way of Dunharrow where the
Lady Éowyn awaits me. You shall be my esquire, if you will. Is there gear
of war in this place, Éomer, that my sword-thain could use?’

‘There are no great weapon-hoards here, lord.’ answered Éomer.
‘Maybe a light helm might be found to fit him; but we have no mail or sword
for one of his stature.’

‘I have a sword,’ said Merry, climbing from
his seat, and drawing from its black sheath his small bright blade. Filled
suddenly with love for this old man, he knelt on one knee, and took his hand and
kissed it. ‘May I lay the sword of Meriadoc of the Shire on your lap Théoden
King?’ he cried. ‘Receive my service, if you will!’

‘Gladly will I take it,’ said the king; and laying his long old hands
upon the brown hair of the hobbit; he blessed him. ‘Rise now, Meriadoc,
esquire of Rohan of the household of Meduseld!’ he said. ‘Take your sword
and bear it unto good fortune!’

‘As a father you shall be to me,’ said Merry.

‘For a little while,’ said Théoden.

They talked then together as they ate, until presently Éomer spoke.
‘It is near the hour that we set for our going, lord,’ he said. ‘Shall I
bid men sound the horns? But where is Aragorn? His place is empty and he
has not eaten.’

‘We will make ready to ride,’ said Théoden; ‘but let word be
sent to the Lord Aragorn that the hour is nigh.’

The king with his guard and Merry at his side passed down from the gate of
the Burg to where the Riders were assembling on the green. Many were already
mounted. It would be a great company; for the king was leaving only a small
garrison in the Burg, and all who could be spared were riding to the weapontake
at Edoras. A thousand spears had indeed already ridden away at night; but still
there would be some five hundred more to go with the king, for the most part men
from the fields and dales of Westfold.

A little apart the Rangers sat, silent, in an ordered company, armed with
spear and bow and sword. They were clad in cloaks of dark grey, and their hoods
were cast now over helm and head. Their horses were strong and of proud bearing,
but rough-haired; and one stood there without a rider, Aragorn’s own horse
that they had brought from the North; Roheryn was his name. There was no gleam
of stone or gold, nor any fair thing in all their gear and harness: nor did
their riders bear any badge or token, save only that each cloak was pinned upon
the left shoulder by a brooch of silver shaped like a rayed star.

The king mounted his horse, Snowmane, and Merry sat beside him on his pony:
Stybba was his name. Presently Éomer came out from the gate, and with him
was Aragorn, and Halbarad bearing the great staff close-furled in black, and two
tall men, neither young nor old So much alike were they, the sons of Elrond,
that few could tell them apart: dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces
elven-fair, clad alike in bright mail beneath cloaks of silver-grey. Behind them
walked Legolas and Gimli. But Merry had eyes only for Aragorn, so startling was
the change that he saw in him, as if in one night many years had fallen on his
head. Grim was his face, grey-hued and weary.

‘I am troubled in mind, lord,’ he said, standing by the king’s horse.
‘I have heard strange words, and I see new perils
far off. I have laboured long in thought, and now I fear that I must change my
purpose. Tell me, Théoden, you ride now to Dunharrow, how long will it be
ere you come there?’

‘It is now a full hour past noon,’ said
Éomer. ‘Before the night of the third day from now we should come to
the Hold. The Moon will then be one night past his full, and the muster that the
king commanded will be held the day after. More speed we cannot make, if the
strength of Rohan is to be gathered.’

Aragorn was silent for a moment. ‘Three days,’ he murmured, ‘and the
muster of Rohan will only be begun. But I see that it cannot now be hastened.’
He looked up, and it seemed that he had made some decision; his face was less
troubled. Then, by our leave, lord, I must take new counsel for myself and my
kindred. We must ride our own road, and no longer in secret. For me the time of
stealth has passed. I will ride east by the swiftest way, and I will take the
Paths of the Dead.’

‘The Paths of the Dead!’ said Théoden,
and trembled. ‘Why do you speak of them?’ Éomer turned and gazed at
Aragorn, and it seemed to Merry that the faces of the Riders that sat within
hearing turned pale at the words. ‘If there be in truth such paths,’ said Théoden,
‘their gate is in Dunharrow; but no living man may pass it.’

‘Alas! Aragorn my friend!’ said Éomer. ‘I had hoped that we
should ride to war together; but if you seek the Paths of the Dead, then our
parting is come, and it is little likely that we shall ever meet again
under the Sun.’

‘That road I will take, nonetheless,’ said Aragorn. ‘But I say to you,
Éomer, that in battle we may yet meet again, though all the hosts of
Mordor should stand between.’

‘You will do as you will, my lord Aragorn,’ said Théoden. ‘It is
your doom, maybe, to tread strange paths that others dare not. This parting
grieves me, and my strength is lessened by it; but now I must take the
mountain-roads and delay no longer. Farewell!’

‘Farewell, lord!’ said Aragorn. ‘Ride unto great renown! Farewell,
Merry! I leave you in good hands, better than we hoped when we hunted the orcs
to Fangorn. Legolas and Gimli will still hunt with me, I hope; but we shall not
forget you.’

‘Good-bye!’ said Merry. He could find no more to say. He felt very small,
and he was puzzled and depressed by all these gloomy words. More than ever he
missed the unquenchable cheerfulness of Pippin. The Riders were ready, and their
horses were fidgeting; he wished they would start arid get it over.

Now Théoden spoke to Éomer, and he lifted up his hand
and cried aloud, and with that word the Riders set forth. They rode over the
Dike and down the Coomb, and then, turning swiftly eastwards, they took a path
that skirted the foothills for a mile or so, until bending south it passed back
among the hills and disappeared from view. Aragorn rode to the Dike and watched
till the king’s men were far down the Coomb. Then he turned to Halbarad.

‘There go three that I love, and the smallest not the least,’ he said.
‘He knows not to what end he rides; yet if he knew, he still would go on.’

‘A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk,’ said Halbarad.
‘Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders,
and yet I grudge it not.’

‘And now our fates are woven together,’ said Aragorn. ‘And yet, alas!
here we must part. Well, I must eat a little, and then we also must hasten away.
Come, Legolas and Gimli! I must speak with you as I eat.’

Together they went back into the Burg; yet for some time Aragorn sat silent
at the table in the hall, and the others waited for him to speak. ‘Come!’
said Legolas at last. ‘Speak and be comforted, and shake off the shadow! What
has happened since we came back to this grim place in the grey morning?’

‘A struggle somewhat grimmer for my part than the battle of the
Hornburg,’ answered Aragorn. ‘I have looked in the Stone of Orthanc, my
friends.’

‘You have looked in that accursed stone of wizardry!’ exclaimed Gimli
with fear and astonishment in his face. ‘Did you say aught to - him? Even
Gandalf feared that encounter.’

‘You forget to whom you speak,’ said Aragorn sternly, and his eyes
glinted. ‘Did I not openly proclaim my title before the doors of Edoras? What
do you fear that I should say to him? Nay, Gimli,’ he said in a softer voice,
and the grimness left his face, and he looked like one who has laboured in
sleepless pain for many nights. ‘Nay, my friends, I and the lawful master of
the Stone, and I had both the right and the strength to use it, or so I judged.
The right cannot be doubted. The strength was enough - barely.’

He drew a deep breath. ‘It was a bitter struggle, and the weariness is slow
to pass. I spoke no word to him, and in the end I wrenched the Stone to my own
will. That alone he will find hard to endure. And he beheld me. Yes, Master
Gimli, he saw me, but in other guise than you see me here. If that will aid him,
then I have done ill. But I do not think so. To know that I lived and walked the
earth was a blow to his heart, I deem; for he knew it not till now. The eyes in
Orthanc did not see through the armour of Théoden;
but Sauron has not forgotten Isildur and the sword of Elendil. Now in the very
hour of his great designs the heir of Isildur and the Sword are revealed; for l
showed the blade re-forged to him. He is not so mighty yet that he is
above fear; nay, doubt ever gnaws him.’

‘But he wields great dominion, nonetheless,’ said Gimli; ‘and now he
will strike more swiftly.’

‘The hasty stroke goes oft astray,’ said Aragorn. ‘We must press our
Enemy, and no longer wait upon him for the move. See my friends, when I had
mastered the Stone, I learned many things. A grave peril I saw coming
unlooked-for upon Gondor from the South that will draw off great strength from
the defence of Minas Tirith. If it is not countered swiftly, I deem that the
City will be lost ere ten days be gone.’

‘Then lost it must be,’ said Gimli. ‘For what help is there to send
thither, and how could it come there in time?’

‘I have no help to send, therefore I must go myself,’ said Aragorn.
‘But there is only one way through the mountains that will bring me to the
coastlands before all is lost. That is the Paths of the Dead.’

‘The Paths of the Dead!’ said Gimli. ‘It is a fell name; and little to
the liking to the Men of Rohan, as I saw. Can the living use such a road and not
perish? And even if you pass that way, what will so few avail to counter the
strokes of Mordor?’

‘The living have never used that road since the coming of the Rohirrim,’
said Aragorn, ‘for it is closed to them. But in this dark hour the heir of
Isildur may use it, if he dare. Listen! This is the word that the sons of Elrond
bring to me from their father in Rivendell, wisest in lore: Bid Aragorn
remember the words of the seer, and the Paths of the Dead.’

‘And what may be the words of the seer?’ said Legolas.

“Thus spoke Malbeth the Seer, in the days of Arvedui, last king at
Fornost,’ said Aragorn:

Over the land there lies a long shadow,

westward reaching wings of darkness.

The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings

doom approaches. The Dead awaken;

for the hour is come for the oathbreakers;

at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again

and hear there a horn in the hills ringing.

Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them

from the prey twilight, the forgotten people?

The heir of him to whom the oath they swore.

From the North shall he come, need shall drive him:

he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead.

‘Dark ways doubtless, said Gimli, but no darker than these staves are to
me.’

‘If you would understand them better, then I bid you come with me,’ said
Aragorn; ‘for that way I now shall take. But I do not go gladly; only need
drives me. Therefore, only of your free will would I have you come, for you will
find both toil and great fear, and maybe worse.’

‘I will go with you even on the Paths of the Dead, and to whatever, end
they may lead,’ said Gimli.

‘I also will come,’ said Legolas, ‘for I do not fear the Dead.’

‘I hope that the forgotten people will not have forgotten how to fight,’
said Gimli; ‘for otherwise I see not why we should trouble them.’

‘That we shall know if ever we come to Erech,’ said Aragorn. ‘But the
oath that they broke was to fight against Sauron, and they must fight therefore,
if they are to fulfil it. For at Erech there stands yet a black stone that was
brought, it was said, from Númenor by
Isildur; and it was set upon a hill, and upon it the King of the Mountains swore
allegiance to him in the beginning of the realm of Gondor. But when Sauron
returned and grew in might again, Isildur summoned the Men of the Mountains
to fulfil their oath, and they would not: for they had worshipped Sauron in the
Dark Years.

‘Then Isildur said to their king: “Thou shalt be the last king. And if
the West prove mightier than thy Black Master, this curse I lay upon thee and
thy folk: to rest never until your oath is fulfilled. For this war will last
through years uncounted, and you shall be summoned once again ere the end.”
And they fled before the wrath of Isildur, and did not dare to go forth to war
on Sauron’s part; and they hid themselves in secret places in the mountains
and had no dealings with other men, but slowly dwindled in the barren hills. And
the terror of the Sleepless Dead lies about the Hill of Erech and all places
where that people lingered. But that way I must go, since there are none living
to help me.’

He stood up. ‘Come!’ he cried, and drew his sword, and it flashed in the
twilit hall of the Burg. ‘To the Stone of Erech! I seek the Paths of the Dead.
Come with me who will!’

Legolas and Gimli made no answer, but they rose and followed Aragorn from the
hall. On the green there waited, still and silent, the hooded Rangers. Legolas
and Gimli mounted. Aragorn sprang upon Roheryn. Then Halbarad lifted a great
horn, and the blast of it echoed in Helm’s Deep; and with that they leapt
away, riding down the Coomb like thunder, while all the men that were left on
Dike or Burg stared in amaze.

And while Théoden went by slow paths in the hills, the Grey Company
passed swiftly over the plain, and on the next day in the afternoon they came
to Edoras; and there they halted only briefly, ere they passed up the valley,
and so came to Dunharrow as darkness fell.

The Lady Éowyn greeted them and was glad of their coming; for no
mightier men had she seen than the Dúnedain and the fair sons of Elrond;
but on Aragorn most of all her eyes rested. And when they sat at supper with
her, they talked together, and she heard of all that had passed since Théoden
rode away, concerning which only hasty tidings had yet reached her; and when she
heard of the battle in Helm’s Deep and the great slaughter of their foes, and
of the charge of Théoden and his knights, then her eyes shone.

But at last she said: ‘Lords, you are weary and shall now go to your beds
with such ease as can be contrived in haste. But tomorrow fairer housing shall
be found for you.’

But Aragorn said: ‘Nay, lady, be not troubled for us! If we may lie here
tonight and break our fast tomorrow, it will be enough. For I ride on an errand
most urgent, and with the first light of morning we must go.’

She smiled on him and said: ‘Then it was kindly done, lord, to ride so many
miles out of your way to bring tidings to Éowyn, and to speak with her in
her exile.’

‘Indeed no man would count such a journey wasted,’ said Aragorn; ‘and
yet, lady, I could not have come hither, if it were not that the road which I
must take leads me to Dunharrow.’

And she answered as one that likes not what is said: “Then, lord, you are
astray; for out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south; and you had best
return as you came.’

‘Nay, lady,’ said he, ‘I am not astray; for I walked in this land ere
you were born to grace it. There is a road out of this valley, and that road I
shall take. Tomorrow I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead.’

Then she stared at him as one that is stricken, and her face blanched, and
for long she spoke no more, while all sat silent. ‘But, Aragorn,’ she said
at last, ‘is it then your errand to seek death? For that is all that you will
find on that road. They do not suffer the living to pass.’

‘They may suffer me to pass,’ said Aragorn; ‘but at the least I will
adventure it. No other road will serve.’

‘But this is madness,’ she said. ‘For here are men of renown and
prowess, whom you should not take into the shadows, but should lead to war,
where men are needed. I beg you to remain and ride with my brother; for then all
our hearts will be gladdened, and our hope be the brighter.’

‘It is not madness, lady,’ he answered; ‘for I go on a path appointed.
But those who follow me do so of their free will; and if they wish now to remain
and ride with the Rohirrim, they may do so. But I shall take the Paths of the
Dead, alone, if needs be.’

Then they said no more, and they ate in silence; but her eyes were ever upon
Aragorn, and the others saw that she was in great torment of mind. At length
they arose, and took their leave of the Lady, and thanked her for her care, and
went to their rest.

But as Aragorn came to the booth where he was to lodge with Legolas and
Gimli, and his companions had gone in. there came the Lady Éowyn
after him and called to him. He turned and saw her as a glimmer in the night,
for she was clad in white; but her eyes were on fire.

‘Aragorn,’ she said, ‘why will you go on this deadly road?’

‘Because I must,’ he said. ‘Only so can I see any hope of doing
my part in the war against Sauron. I do not choose paths of peril, Éowyn.
Were I to go where my heart dwells, far in the North I would now be wandering in
the fair valley of Rivendell.’

For a while she was silent, as if pondering what this might mean. Then
suddenly she laid her hand on his arm. ‘You are a stern lord and resolute,’
she said; ‘and thus do men win renown.’ She paused. ‘Lord.’ she said,
‘if you must go, then let me ride in your following. For I am weary of
skulking in the hills, and wish to face peril and battle.’

‘Your duty is with your people,’ he answered.

‘Too often have I heard of duty,’ she cried. ‘But am I not of the House
of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet
long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life
as I will?’

‘Few may do that with honour,’ he answered. ‘But as for you, lady: did
you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord’s return? If
you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the
same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or
no.’

‘Shall I always be chosen?’ she said bitterly. ‘Shall I always be left
behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find
food and beds when they return?’

‘A time may come soon,’ said he, ‘when none will return. Then there
will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that
are done in the last defence of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less
valiant because they are unpraised.’

And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your
part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have
leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of
the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do
not fear either pain or death.’

‘What do you fear, lady?’ he asked.

‘A cage,’ she said. ‘To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept
them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.’

‘And yet you counselled me not to adventure on the road that I had chosen,
because it is perilous?’

‘So may one counsel another,’ she said. ‘Yet I do not bid you flee from
peril, but to ride to battle where your sword may win renown and victory. I
would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly.’

‘Nor would I,’ he said. ‘Therefore I say to you, lady: Stay! For you
have no errand to the South.’

‘Neither have those others who go with thee. They go only because they
would not be parted from thee - because they love thee.’ Then she turned and
vanished into the night.

When the light of day was come into the sky but the sun was not yet risen
above the high ridges in the East, Aragorn made
ready to depart. His company was all mounted, and he was about to leap into the
saddle, when the Lady Éowyn came to bid them farewell. She was clad as a
Rider and girt with a sword. In her hand she bore a cup, and she set it to her
lips and drank a little, wishing them good speed; and then she gave the
cup to Aragorn, and he drank, and he said: ‘Farewell, Lady of Rohan! I drink
to the fortunes of your House, and of you, and of all your people. Say to your
brother: beyond the shadows we may meet again!’

Then it seemed to Gimli and Legolas who were nearby that she wept, and in one
so stern and proud that seemed the more grievous. But she said: ‘Aragorn, wilt
thou go?’

‘I will,’ he said.

‘Then wilt thou not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?’

‘I will not, lady,’ he said. ‘For that I could not grant without leave
of the king and of your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow. But I
count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell!’

Then she fell on her knees, saying: ‘I beg thee!’

‘Nay, lady,’ he said, and taking her by the hand he raised her. Then he
kissed her hand, and sprang into the saddle, and rode away, and did not look
back; and only those who knew him well and were near to him saw the pain that he
bore.

But Éowyn stood still as a figure carven in stone, her hands
clenched at her sides, and she watched them until they passed into the shadows
under the black Dwimorberg, the Haunted Mountain, in which was the Gate of the
Dead. When they were lost to view, she turned, stumbling as one that is blind,
and went back to her lodging. But none of her folk saw this parting, for they
hid themselves in fear and would not come forth until the day was up, and the
reckless strangers were gone.

And some said: ‘They are Elvish wights. Let them go where they belong, into
the dark places, and never return. The times are evil enough.’

The light was still grey as they rode, for the sun had not yet climbed over
the black ridges of the Haunted Mountain before them. A dread fell on them, even
as they passed between the lines of ancient stones and so came to the Dimholt.
There under the gloom of black trees that not even Legolas could long endure
they found a hollow place opening at the mountain’s root, and right in their
path stood a single mighty stone like a finger of doom.

‘My blood runs chill,’ said Gimli, but the others were silent, and his
voice fell dead on the dank fir-needles at his feet. The horses would not pass
the threatening stone, until the riders dismounted and led them about. And so
they came at last deep into the glen; and there stood a sheer wall of rock, and
in the wall the Dark Door gaped before them like the mouth of night. Signs and
figures were carved above its wide arch too dim to read, and fear flowed from it
like a grey vapour.

The company halted, and there was not a heart among them that did not quail,
unless it were the heart of Legolas of the Elves, for whom the ghosts of Men
have no terror.

‘This is an evil door,’ said Halbarad, ‘and my death lies beyond it. I
will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter.’

‘But we must go in, and therefore the horses must go too,’ said Aragorn.
‘For if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond, and every
hour that is lost there will bring the triumph of Sauron nearer. Follow me!’

Then Aragorn led the way, and such was the strength of his will in that hour
that all the Dúnedain and their horses followed him. And indeed the love
that the horses of the Rangers bore for their riders was so great that they were
willing to face even the terror of the Door, if their masters’ hearts
were steady as they walked beside them. But Arod, the horse of Rohan, refused
the way, and he stood sweating and trembling in a fear that was grievous to see.
Then Legolas laid his hands on his eyes and sang some words that went soft in
the gloom, until he suffered himself to be led, and Legolas passed in. And there
stood Gimli the Dwarf left all alone.

His knees shook, and he was wroth with himself. ‘Here is a thing unheard
of!’ he said. ‘An Elf will go underground and a
Dwarf dare not!’ With that he plunged in. But it seemed to him that he dragged
his feet like lead over the threshold; and at once a blindness came upon him,
even upon Gimli Glóin’s son who had walked unafraid in many deep places
of the world.

Aragorn had brought torches from Dunharrow, and now he went ahead bearing one
aloft; and Elladan with another went at the rear, and Gimli, stumbling behind,
strove to overtake him. He could see nothing but the dim flame of the torches;
but if the company halted, there seemed an endless whisper of voices all about
him, a murmur of words in no tongue that he had ever heard before.

Nothing assailed the company nor withstood their passage, and yet steadily
fear grew on the Dwarf as he went on: most of all because he knew now that there
could be no turning back; all the paths behind were thronged by an unseen host
that followed in the dark.

So time unreckoned passed, until Gimli saw a sight that he was ever
afterwards loth to recall. The road was wide, as far as he could judge, but now
the company came suddenly into a great empty space, and there were no longer any
walls upon either side. The dread was so heavy on him that he could hardly walk.
Away to the left something glittered in the gloom as Aragorn’s torch drew
near. Then Aragorn halted and went to look what it might be.

‘Does he feel no fear?’ muttered the Dwarf. ‘In any other cave Gimli Glóin’s
son would have been the first to run to the gleam of gold. But not here! Let it
lie!’

Nonetheless he drew near, and saw Aragorn kneeling, while Elladan held aloft
both torches. Before him were the bones of a mighty man. He had been clad in
mail, and still his harness lay there whole; for the cavern’s air was as dry
as dust, and his hauberk was gilded. His belt was of gold and garnets, and rich
with gold was the helm upon his bony head face downward on the floor. He had
fallen near the far wall of the cave, as now could be seen, and before him stood
a stony door closed fast: his finger-bones were still clawing at the cracks. A
notched and broken sword lay by him, as if he had hewn at the rock in his last
despair.

Aragorn did not touch him, but after gazing silently for a while he rose and
sighed. ‘Hither shall the flowers of simbelmynë
come never unto world’s end,’ he murmured. ‘Nine mounds and seven there
are now green with grass, and through all the long years he has lain at the door
that he could not unlock. Whither does it lead? Why would he pass? None shall
ever know!

‘For that is not my errand!’ he cried, turning back and speaking to the
whispering darkness behind. ‘Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the
Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to
the Stone of Erech!’

There was no answer, unless it were an utter silence more dreadful than the
whispers before; and then a chill blast came in which the torches flickered and
went out, and could not be rekindled. Of the time that followed, one hour or
many, Gimli remembered little. The others pressed on, but he was ever hindmost,
pursued by a groping horror that seemed always just about to seize him; and a
rumour came after him like the shadow-sound of many feet. He stumbled on until
he was crawling like a beast on the ground and felt that he could endure no
more: he must either find an ending and escape or run back in madness to meet
the following fear.

Suddenly he heard the tinkle of water, a sound hard and clear as a stone
falling into a dream of dark shadow. Light grew, and lo! the company passed
through another gateway, high-arched and broad, and a rill ran out beside them;
and beyond, going steeply down, was a road between sheer cliffs, knife-edged
against the sky far above. So deep and narrow was that chasm that the sky was
dark, and in it small stars glinted. Yet as Gimli after learned it was still two
hours ere sunset of the day on which they had set out from Dunharrow; though for
all that he could then tell it might have been twilight in some later year, or
in some other world.

The Company now mounted again, and Gimli returned to Legolas. They rode in
file, and evening came on and a deep blue dusk; and still fear pursued them.
Legolas turning to speak to Gimli looked back and the Dwarf saw before his face
the glitter in the Elf’s bright eyes. Behind them rode Elladan, last of the
Company, but not the last of those that took the downward road.

‘The Dead are following,’ said Legolas. ‘I see shapes of Men and of
horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets
on a misty night. The Dead are following.’

‘Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned,’ said Elladan.

The Company came at last out of the ravine, as suddenly as it they had issued
from a crack in a wall; and there lay the uplands of a great vale before them,
and the stream beside them went down with a cold voice over many falls.

‘Where in Middle-earth are we?’ said Gimli; and Elladan answered: ‘We
have descended from the uprising of the Morthond, the long chill river that
flows at last to the sea that washes the walls of Dol Amroth. You will not need
to ask hereafter how comes its name: Blackroot men call it.’

The Morthond Vale made a great bay that beat up against the sheer southern
faces of the mountains. Its steep slopes were grass-grown; but all was grey in
that hour, for the sun had gone, and far below lights twinkled in the homes of
Men. The vale was rich and many folk dwelt there.

Then without turning Aragorn cried aloud so that all could hear: ‘Friends,
forget your weariness! Ride now, ride! We must come to the Stone of Erech ere
this day passes, and long still is the way.’ So without looking back they rode
the mountain-fields, until they came to a bridge over the growing torrent and
found a road that went down into the land.

Lights went out in house and hamlet as they came, and doors were shut, and
folk that were afield cried in terror and ran wild like hunted deer. Ever there
rose the same cry in the gathering night: ‘The King of the Dead! The King of
the Dead is come upon us!’

Bells were ringing far below, and all men fled before the face of Aragorn;
but the Grey Company in their haste rode like hunters, until their horses were
stumbling with weariness. And thus, just ere midnight, and in a darkness as
black as the caverns in the mountains, they came at last to the Hill of Erech.

Long had the terror of the Dead lain upon that hill and upon the empty fields
about it. For upon the top stood a black stone, round as a great globe, the
height of a man, though its half was buried in the ground. Unearthly it looked,
as though it had fallen from the sky, as some
believed; but those who remembered still the lore of Westernesse told that it
had been brought out of the ruin of Númenor and there set by Isildur at
his landing. None of the people of the valley dared to approach it, nor
would they dwell near; for they said that it was a trysting-place of the
Shadow-men, and there they would gather in times of fear, thronging round the
Stone and whispering.

To that Stone the Company came and halted in the dead of night. Then Elrohir
gave to Aragorn a silver horn, and he blew upon it and it seemed to those that
stood near that they heard a sound of answering horns, as if it was an echo in
deep caves far away. No other sound they heard, and yet they were aware of a
great host gathered all about the hill on which they stood; and a chill wind
like the breath of ghosts came down from the mountains. But Aragorn dismounted,
and standing by the Stone he cried in a great voice:

‘Oathbreakers, why have ye come?’

And a voice was heard out of the night that answered him, as if from far
away:

‘To fulfil our oath and have peace.’

Then Aragorn said: ‘The hour is come at last. Now I go to Pelargir upon
Anduin, and ye shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the
servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and
depart for ever. For I am Elessar, Isildur’s heir of Gondor.’

And with that he bade Halbarad unfurl the great standard which he had
brought; and behold! it was black, and if there was any device upon it, it was
hidden in the darkness. Then there was silence, and not a whisper nor a sigh was
heard again all the long night. The Company camped beside the Stone, but they
slept little, because of the dread of the Shadows that hedged them round.

But when the dawn came, cold and pale, Aragorn rose at once, and he led the
Company forth upon the journey of greatest haste and weariness that any among
them had known, save he alone, and only his will held them to go on. No other
mortal Men could have endured it, none but the Dúnedain
of the North, and with them Gimli the Dwarf and Legolas of the Elves.

They passed Tarlang’s Neck and came into Lamedon; and the Shadow Host
pressed behind and fear went on before them, until they came to Calembel upon
Ciril, and the sun went down like blood behind Pinnath Gelin away in the West
behind them. The township and the fords of Ciril they found deserted, for many
men had gone away to war, and all that were left fled to the hills at the rumour
of the coming of the King of the Dead. But the next day there came no dawn, and
the Grey Company passed on into the darkness of the Storm of Mordor and were
lost to mortal sight; but the Dead followed them.

Chapter 3

The Muster of Rohan

Now all roads were running together to the East to meet the coming of war and
the onset of the Shadow. And even as Pippin stood at the Great Gate of the City
and saw the Prince of Dol Amroth ride in with his banners, the King of Rohan
came down out of the hills.

Day was waning. In the last rays of the sun the Riders cast long pointed
shadows that went on before them. Darkness had already crept beneath the
murmuring fir-woods that clothed the steep mountain-sides. The king rode now
slowly at the end of the day. Presently the path turned round a huge bare
shoulder of rock and plunged into the gloom of soft-sighing trees. Down, down
they went in a long winding file. When at last they came to the bottom of the
gorge they found that evening had fallen in the deep places. The sun was gone.
Twilight lay upon the waterfalls.

All day far below them a leaping stream had run down from the high pass
behind, cleaving its narrow way between pine-clad walls; and now through a stony
gate it flowed out and passed into a wider vale. The Riders followed it, and
suddenly Harrowdale lay before them, loud with the noise of waters in the
evening. There the white Snowbourn, joined by the lesser stream, went rushing,
fuming on the stones, down to Edoras and the green hills and the plains. Away to
the right at the head of the great dale the mighty Starkhorn loomed up above its
vast buttresses swathed in cloud; but its jagged peak, clothed in everlasting
snow, gleamed far above the world, blue-shadowed upon the East, red-stained by
the sunset in the West.

Merry looked out in wonder upon this strange country, of which he had heard
many tales upon their long road. It was a skyless world, in which his eye;
through dim gulfs of shadowy air, saw only ever-mounting slopes, great walls of
stone behind great walls, and frowning precipices wreathed with mist. He sat for
a moment half dreaming, listening to the noise of water, the whisper of dark
trees, the crack of stone, and the vast waiting silence that brooded behind all
sound. He loved mountains, or he had loved the thought of them marching on the
edge of stories brought from far away; but now he was borne down by the
insupportable weight of Middle-earth. He longed to shut out the immensity in a
quiet room by a fire.

He was very tired, for though they had ridden slowly, they had ridden with
very little rest. Hour after hour for nearly three weary days he had jogged up
and down, over passes, and through long dales, and across many streams.
Sometimes where the way was broader he had ridden at the king’s side, not
noticing that many of the Riders smiled to see the
two together: the hobbit on his little shaggy grey pony, and the Lord of Rohan
on his great white horse. Then he had talked to Théoden, telling him
about his home and the doings of the Shire-folk, or listening in turn to tales
of the Mark and its mighty men of old. But most of the time, especially
on this last day, Merry had ridden by himself just behind the king, saying
nothing, and trying to understand the slow sonorous speech of Rohan that he
heard the men behind him using. It was a language in which there seemed to be
many words that he knew, though spoken more richly and strongly than in the
Shire, yet he could not piece the words together. At times some Rider would lift
up his clear voice in stirring song, and Merry felt his heart leap, though he
did not know what it was about.

All the same he had been lonely, and never more so than now at the day’s
end. He wondered where in all this strange world Pippin had got to; and what
would become of Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli. Then suddenly like a cold touch
on his heart he thought of Frodo and Sam. ‘I am forgetting them!’ he said to
himself reproachfully. ‘And yet they are more important than all the rest of
us. And I came to help them; but now they must be hundreds of miles away, if
they are still alive.’ He shivered.

‘Harrowdale at last!’ said Éomer. ‘Our journey is almost at an
end.’ They halted. The paths out of the narrow gorge fell steeply. Only a
glimpse, as through a tall window, could be seen of the great valley in the
gloaming below. A single small light could be seen twinkling by the
river.

‘This journey is over, maybe,’ said Théoden, ‘but I have far yet
to go. Last night the moon was full, and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras
to the gathering of the Mark.’

‘But if you would take my counsel,’ said
Éomer in a low voice, ‘you would then return hither, until the war is
over, lost or won.’

Théoden smiled. ‘Nay, my son, for so I will call you, speak not the
soft words of Wormtongue in my old ears!’ He drew himself up and looked back
at the long line of his men fading into the dusk behind. ‘Long years in
the space of days it seems since I rode west; but never will I lean on a staff
again. If the war is lost, what good will be my hiding in the hills? And if it
is won, what grief will it be, even if I fall, spending my last strength? But we
will leave this now. Tonight I will lie in the Hold of Dunharrow. One evening of
peace at least is left us. Let us ride on!’

In the deepening dusk they came down into the valley. Here the Snowbourn
flowed near to the western walls of the dale, and soon the path led them to a
ford where the shallow waters murmured loudly on the stones. The ford was
guarded. As the king approached many men sprang up out of the shadow of the
rocks; and when they saw the king they cried with
glad voices: ‘Théoden King! Théoden King! The King of the Mark
returns!’

Then one blew a long call on a horn. It echoed in the valley. Other horns
answered it, and lights shone out across the river.

And suddenly there rose a great chorus of trumpets from high above, sounding
from some hollow place, as it seemed, that gathered their notes into one voice
and sent it rolling and beating on the walls of stone.

So the King of the Mark came back victorious out of the West to Dunharrow
beneath the feet of the White Mountains. There he
found the remaining strength of his people already assembled; for as soon as his
coming was known captains rode to meet him at the ford, bearing messages from
Gandalf. Dúnhere, chieftain of the folk of Harrowdale, was at
their head.

‘At dawn three days ago, lord,’ he said. ‘Shadowfax came like a wind
out of the West to Edoras, and Gandalf brought tidings of your victory to
gladden our hearts. But he brought also word from you to hasten the gathering of
the Riders. And then came the winged Shadow.’

‘The winged Shadow?’ said Théoden. ‘We saw it also, but that was
in the dead of night before Gandalf left us.’

‘Maybe, lord,’ said Dúnhere. ‘Yet the same, or another like to
it, a flying darkness in the shape of a monstrous bird, passed over
Edoras that morning, and all men were shaken with fear. For it stooped upon
Meduseld, and as it came low, almost to the gable, there came a cry that stopped
our hearts. Then it was that Gandalf counselled us not to assemble in the
fields, but to meet you here in the valley under the mountains. And he bade us
to kindle no more lights or fires than barest need asked. So it has been done.
Gandalf spoke with great authority. We trust that it is as you would wish.
Naught has been seen in Harrowdale of these evil things.’

‘It is well,’ said Théoden. ‘I will ride now to the Hold, and
there before I go to rest I will meet the marshals and captains. Let them come
to me as soon as may be!’

The road now led eastward straight across the valley, which was at that point
little more than half a mile in width. Flats and meads of rough grass, grey now
in the falling night, lay all about, but in front on the far side of the dale
Merry saw a frowning wall, a last outlier of the great roots of the Starkhorn,
cloven by the river in ages past.

On all the level spaces there was great concourse of men. Some thronged to
the roadside, hailing the king and the riders from the West with glad cries; but
stretching away into the distance behind there were ordered rows of tents and
booths, and lines of picketed horses, and great store of arms, and piled spears
bristling like thickets of new-planted trees. Now all the great assembly was
falling into shadow, and yet, though the night-chill blew cold from the heights
no lanterns glowed, no fires were lit. Watchmen heavily cloaked paced to and
fro.

Merry wondered how many Riders there were. He could not guess their number in
the gathering gloom, but it looked to him like a great army, many thousands
strong. While he was peering from side to side the king’s party came up under
the looming cliff on the eastern side of the valley; and there suddenly the path
began to climb, and Merry looked up in amazement. He was on a road the like of
which he had never seen before, a great work of men’s hands in years beyond
the reach of song. Upwards it wound, coiling like a snake, boring its way across
the sheer slope of rock. Steep as a stair, it looped backwards and forwards as
it climbed. Up it horses could walk, and wains could be slowly hauled; but no
enemy could come that way, except out of the air, if it was defended from above.
At each turn of the road there were great standing stones that had been carved
in the likeness of men, huge and clumsy-limbed, squatting cross-legged with
their stumpy arms folded on fat bellies. Some in
the wearing of the years had lost all features save the dark holes of their eyes
that still stared sadly at the passers-by. The Riders hardly glanced at them.
The Púkel-men they called them, and heeded them little: no power
or terror was left in them; but Merry gazed at them with wonder and a feeling
almost of pity, as they loomed up mournfully in the dusk.

After a while he looked back and found that he had already climbed some
hundreds of feet above the valley, but still far below he could dimly see a
winding line of Riders crossing the ford and filing along the road towards the
camp prepared for them. Only the king and his guard were going up into the Hold.

At last the king’s company came to a sharp brink, and the climbing road
passed into a cutting between walls of rock, and so went up a short slope and
out on to a wide upland. The Firienfeld men called it, a green mountain-field of
grass and heath, high above the deep-delved courses of the Snowbourn, laid upon
the lap of the great mountains behind: the Starkhorn southwards, and northwards
the saw-toothed mass of Irensaga, between which there faced the riders, the grim
black wall of the Dwimorberg, the Haunted Mountain rising out of steep slopes of
sombre pines. Dividing the upland into two there marched a double line of
unshaped standing stones that dwindled into the dusk and vanished in the trees.
Those who dared to follow that road came soon to the black Dimholt under
Dwimorberg, and the menace of the pillar of stone, and the yawning shadow of the
forbidden door.

Such was the dark Dunharrow, the work of long-forgotten men. Their name was
lost and no song or legend remembered it. For what purpose they had made this
place, as a town or secret temple or a tomb of kings, none
could say. Here they laboured in the Dark Years, before ever a ship came to the
western shores, or Gondor of the Dúnedain was built; and now they had
vanished, and only the old Púkel-men were left, still sitting at the
turnings of the road.

Merry stared at the lines of marching stones: they were worn and black; some
were leaning, some were fallen, some cracked or broken; they looked like rows of
old and hungry teeth. He wondered what they could be, and he hoped that the king
was not going to follow them into the darkness beyond. Then he saw that there
were clusters of tents and booths on either side of the stony way; but these
were not set near the trees, and seemed rather to huddle away from them towards
the brink of the cliff. The greater number were on the right, where the
Firienfeld was wider; and on the left there was a smaller camp, in the midst of
which stood a tall pavilion. From this side a rider now came out to meet them,
and they turned from the road.

As they drew near Merry saw that the rider was a woman with long braided hair
gleaming in the twilight, yet she wore a helm and was clad to the waist like a
warrior and girded with a sword.

‘Hail, Lord of the Mark!’ she cried. ‘My heart is glad at your
returning.’

‘And you, Éowyn,’ said Théoden, ‘is all well with
you?’

‘All is well,’ she answered; yet it seemed to Merry that her voice belied
her, and he would have thought that she had been weeping, if that could be
believed of one so stern of face. ‘All is well. It was a weary road for the
people to take, torn suddenly from their homes. There were hard words, for it is
long since war has driven us from the green fields; but there have been no evil
deeds. All is now ordered, as you see. And your lodging is prepared for you; for
I have had full tidings of you and knew the hour of your coming.’

‘So Aragorn has come then,’ said Éomer. ‘Is he still here?’

‘No, he is gone,’ said Éowyn turning away and looking at the
mountains dark against the East and South.

‘Whither did he go?’ asked Éomer.

‘I do not know,’ she answered. ‘He came at night, and rode away
yestermorn, ere the Sun had climbed over the mountain-tops. He is gone.’

‘You are grieved, daughter,’ said Théoden. ‘What has happened?
Tell me, did he speak of that road?’ He pointed away along the darkening
lines of stones towards the Dwimorberg. ‘Of the Paths of the Dead?’

‘Yes, lord,’ said Éowyn. ‘And he has passed into the shadows
from which none have returned. I could not dissuade him. He is gone.’

‘Then our paths are sundered,’ said Éomer. ‘He is lost. We
must ride without him, and our hope dwindles.’

Slowly they passed through the short heath and upland grass, speaking no
more, until they came to the king’s pavilion. There Merry found that
everything was made ready, and that he himself was not forgotten. A little tent
had been pitched for him beside the king’s lodging; and there he sat alone,
while men passed to and fro, going in to the king and taking counsel with him.
Night came on, and the half-seen heads of the mountains westward were crowned
with stars, but the East was dark and blank. The marching stones faded slowly
from sight, but still beyond them, blacker than the gloom, brooded the vast
crouching shadow of the Dwimorberg.

‘The Paths of the Dead,’ he muttered to himself. ‘The Paths of the
Dead? What does all this mean? They have all left me now. They have all gone to
some doom: Gandalf and Pippin to war in the East; and Sam and Frodo to Mordor;
and Strider and Legolas and Gimli to the Paths of the Dead. But my turn will
come soon enough, I suppose. I wonder what they are all talking about, and what
the king means to do. For I must go where he goes now.’

In the midst of these gloomy thoughts he suddenly remembered that he was very
hungry, and he got up to go and see if anyone else in this strange camp felt the
same. But at that very moment a trumpet sounded, and a man came summoning him,
the king’s esquire, to wait at the king’s board.

In the inner part of the pavilion was a small space, curtained off with
broidered hangings, and strewn with skins: and
there at a small table sat Théoden with Éomer and Éowyn,
and Dúnhere, lord of Harrowdale. Merry stood beside the king’s stool
and waited on him till presently the old man, coming out of deep thought, turned
to him and smiled.

‘Come, Master Meriadoc!’ he said. ‘You shall not stand. You shall sit
beside me, as long as I remain in my own lands, and lighten my heart with
tales.’

Room was made for the hobbit at the king’s left hand, but no one called for
any tale. There was indeed little speech, and they ate and drank for the most
part in silence, until at last, plucking up courage, Merry asked the question
that was tormenting him.

‘Twice now, lord, I have heard of the Paths of the Dead,’ he said.
‘What are they? And where has Strider, I mean the Lord Aragorn where has he
gone?’

The king sighed, but no one answered, until at last Éomer spoke. ‘We
do not know, and our hearts are heavy,’ he said. ‘But as for the Paths of
the Dead, you have yourself walked on their first steps. Nay. I speak no words
of ill omen! The road that we have climbed is the approach to the Door,
yonder in the Dimholt. But what lies beyond no man knows.’

‘No man knows,’ said Théoden: ‘yet ancient legend, now seldom
spoken, has somewhat to report. If these old tales speak true that have come
down from father to son in the House of Eorl, then the Door under Dwimorberg
leads to a secret way that goes beneath the mountain to some forgotten end. But
none have ever ventured in to search its secrets, since Baldor, son of Brego,
passed the Door and was never seen among men again. A rash vow he spoke, as he
drained the horn at that feast which Brego made to hallow new-built Meduseld,
and he came never to the high seat of which he was the heir.

‘Folk say that Dead Men out of the Dark Years guard the way and will suffer
no living man to come to their hidden halls; but at whiles they may themselves
be seen passing out of the door like shadows and down the stony road. Then the
people of Harrowdale shut fast their doors and shroud their windows and are
afraid. But the Dead come seldom forth and only at times of great unquiet and
coming death.’

‘Yet it is said in Harrowdale,’ said Éowyn in a low voice. ‘that
in the moonless nights but little while ago a great host in strange array passed
by. Whence they came none knew, but they went up the stony road and
vanished into the hill, as if they went to keep a tryst.’

‘Unless he has spoken words to you as his friend that
we have not heard,’ said Éomer, ‘none now in the land of the living
can tell his purpose.’

‘Greatly changed he seemed to me since I saw him first in the king’s
house,’ said Éowyn: ‘grimmer, older. Fey I thought him, and like one
whom the Dead call.’

‘Maybe he was called,’ said Théoden;
‘and my heart tells me that I shall not see him again. Yet he is a kingly man
of high destiny. And take comfort in this, daughter, since comfort you seem to
need in your grief for this guest. It is said that when the Eorlingas
came out of the North and passed at length up the Snowbourn, seeking strong
places of refuge in time of need, Brego and his son Baldor climbed the Stair of
the Hold and so came before the Door. On the threshold sat an old man, aged
beyond guess of years; tall and kingly he had been, but now he was withered as
an old stone. Indeed for stone they took him, for he moved not, and he said no
word, until they sought to pass him by and enter. And then a voice came out of
him, as it were out of the ground, and to their amaze it spoke in the western
tongue: The way is shut.

‘Then they halted and looked at him and saw that he lived still; but he did
not look at them. The way is shut, his voice said again It was made by
those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.

‘And when will that time be? said Baldor. But no answer did he ever
get. For the old man died in that hour and fell upon his face; and no other
tidings of the ancient dwellers in the mountains have our folk ever learned. Yet
maybe at last the time foretold has come, and Aragorn may pass.’

‘But how shall a man discover whether that time be come or no, save by
daring the Door?’ said Éomer. ‘And that way I would not go though all
the hosts of Mordor stood before me, and I were alone and had no other
refuge. Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour
of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the
earth? War is at hand.’

He paused, for at that moment there was a noise
outside, a man’s voice crying the name of Théoden, and the challenge of
the guard.

Presently the captain of the Guard thrust aside the curtain. ‘A man is
here, lord,’ he said, ‘an errand-rider of Gondor. He wishes to come before
you at once.’

‘Let him come!’ said Théoden.

A tall man entered, and Merry choked back a cry; for a moment it seemed to
him that Boromir was alive again and had returned. Then he saw that it was not
so; the man was a stranger, though as like to Boromir as if he were one of his
kin, tall and grey-eyed and proud. He was clad as a rider with a cloak of dark
green over a coat of fine mail; on the front of his helm was wrought a small
silver star. In his hand he bore a single arrow, black-feathered and barbed with
steel, but the point was painted red.

He sank on one knee and presented the arrow to Théoden. ‘Hail Lord
of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor!’ he said. ‘Hirgon I am, errand-rider of
Denethor, who bring you this token of war. Gondor is in great need. Often the
Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your
strength and all your speed; lest Gondor fall at last.’

‘The Red Arrow!’ said Théoden, holding it, as one who receives a
summons long expected and yet dreadful when it comes. His hand trembled. ‘The
Red Arrow has not been seen in the Mark in all my years! Has it indeed
come to that? And what does the Lord Denethor reckon that all my strength and
all my speed may be?’

‘That is best known to yourself, lord,’ said Hirgon. ‘But ere long it
may well come to pass that Minas Tirith is surrounded, and unless you have the
strength to break a siege of many powers, the Lord Denethor bids me say that he
judges that the strong arms of the Rohirrim would be better within his walls
than without.’

‘But he knows that we are a people who fight rather upon horseback and in
the open, and that we are also a scattered people and time is needed for the
gathering of our Riders. Is it not true, Hirgon, that the Lord of Minas Tirith
knows more than he sets in his message? For we are already at war, as you may
have seen, and you do not find us all unprepared. Gandalf the Grey has been
among us, and even now we are mustering for battle in the East.’

‘What the Lord Denethor may know or guess of all these things I cannot
say,’ answered Hirgon. ‘But indeed our case is desperate. My lord does not
issue any command to you, he begs you only to remember old friendship and oaths
long spoken, and for your own good to do all that you may. It is reported to us
that many kings have ridden in from the East to the service of Mordor. From the
North to the field of Dagorlad there is skirmish and rumour of war. In the South
the Haradrim are moving, and fear has fallen on all our coastlands, so that
little help will come to us thence. Make haste! For it is before the walls of
Minas Tirith that the doom of our time will be decided, and if the tide be not
stemmed there, then it will flow over all the fair fields of Rohan, and even in
this Hold among the hills there shall be no refuge.’

‘Dark tidings,’ said Théoden, ‘yet not all unguessed. But
say to Denethor that even if Rohan itself felt no peril, still we would come to
his aid. But we have suffered much loss in our battles with Saruman the traitor,
and we must still think of our frontier to the north and east, as his own
tidings make clear. So great a power as the Dark Lord seems now to wield might
well contain us in battle before the City and yet strike with great force across
the River away beyond the Gate of Kings.

‘But we will speak no longer counsels of prudence. We will come. The
weapontake was set for the morrow. When all is ordered we will set out. Ten
thousand spears I might have sent riding over the plain to the dismay of your
foes. It will be less now, I fear; for I will not leave my strongholds all
unguarded. Yet six thousands at the least shall ride behind me. For say to
Denethor that in this hour the King of the Mark himself will come down to the
land of Gondor, though maybe he will not ride back. But it is a long road, and
man and beast must reach the end with strength to fight. A week it may be from
tomorrow’s morn ere you hear the cry of the Sons of Eorl coming from the
North.

‘A week!’ said Hirgon. ‘If it must be so, it must. But you are like to
find only ruined walls in seven days from now, unless other help unlooked-for
comes. Still, you may at the least disturb the Orcs and Swarthy Men from their
feasting in the White Tower.’

‘At the least we will do that,’ said Théoden. ‘But I myself am
new-come from battle and long journey, and I will now go to rest. Tarry
here this night. Then you shall look on the muster of Rohan and ride away the
gladder for the sight, and the swifter for the rest. In the morning counsels are
best, and night changes many thoughts.

With that the king stood up, and they all rose. ‘Go now each to your
rest.’ he said, ‘and sleep well. And you, Master Meriadoc, I need no more
tonight. But be ready to my call as soon as the Sun is risen.’

‘I will be ready,’ said Merry, ‘even if you bid me ride with you on the
Paths of the Dead.’

‘Speak not words of omen!’ said the king. ‘For there may be more roads
than one that could bear that name. But I did not say that I would bid you ride
with me on any road. Good night!’

‘I won’t be left behind, to be called for on return!’ said Merry. ‘I
won’t be left, I won’t.’ And repeating this over and over again to himself
he fell asleep at last in his tent.

He was wakened by a man shaking him. ‘Wake up, wake up. Master Holbytla!’
he cried; and at length Merry came out of deep dreams and sat up with a start.
It still seemed very dark, he thought.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked.

‘The king calls for you.’

‘But the Sun has not risen, yet,’ said Merry.

‘No, and will not rise today, Master Holbytla. Nor ever again, one would
think under this cloud. But time does not stand still, though the Sun be lost.
Make haste!’

Flinging on some clothes, Merry looked outside. The world was darkling. The
very air seemed brown, and all things about were black and grey and shadowless;
there was a great stillness. No shape of cloud could be seen, unless it were far
away westward, where the furthest groping fingers of the great gloom still
crawled onwards and a little light leaked through them. Overhead there hung a
heavy roof, sombre and featureless, and light seemed rather to be failing than
growing.

Merry saw many folk standing, looking up and muttering: all their faces were
grey and sad, and some were afraid. With a sinking heart he made his way to the
king. Hirgon the rider of Gondor was there before him, and beside him stood now
another man, like him and dressed alike, but shorter and broader. As Merry
entered he was speaking to the king.

‘It comes from Mordor, lord,’ he said. ‘It began last night at sunset.
From the hills in the Eastfold of your realm I saw it rise and creep across the
sky, and all night as I rode it came behind eating up the stars. Now the great
cloud hangs over all the land between here and the Mountains of Shadow; and it
is deepening. War has already begun.’

For a while the king sat silent. At last he spoke. ‘So we come to it in the
end,’ he said: ‘the great battle of our time, in which many things shall
pass away. But at least there is no longer need for hiding. We will ride the
straight way and the open road and with all our speed. The muster shall begin at
once, and wait for none that tarry. Have you good store in Minas Tirith? For if
we must ride now in all haste, then we must ride light, with but meal and water
enough to last us into battle.’

‘We have very great store long prepared,’ answered Hirgon. Ride now as
light and as swift as you may!’

‘Then call the heralds, Éomer,’ said Théoden. ‘Let the
Riders be marshalled!’

Éomer went out, and presently the trumpets rang in the Hold and were
answered by many others from below; but their voices no longer sounded clear
and brave as they had seemed to Merry the night before. Dull they seemed and
harsh in the heavy air, braying ominously.

The king turned to Merry. ‘I am going to war, Master Meriadoc,’ he said.
‘In a little while I shall take the road. I release you from
my service, but not from my friendship. You shall abide here, and if you will,
you shall serve the Lady Éowyn, who will govern the folk in my stead.’

‘But, but, lord,’ Merry stammered, ‘I offered you my sword. I do not
want to be parted from you like this, Théoden
King. And as all my friends have gone to the battle’ I should be ashamed to
stay behind.’

‘But we ride on horses tall and swift,’ said Théoden; ‘and great
though your heart be, you cannot ride on such beasts.’

‘Then tie me on to the back of one, or let me hang on a stirrup, or
something,’ said Merry. ‘It is a long way to run; but run I shall, if I
cannot ride, even if I wear my feet off and arrive weeks too late.’

Théoden smiled. ‘Rather than that I would bear you with me on
Snowmane,’ he said. ‘But at the least you shall ride with me to
Edoras and look on Meduseld; for that way I shall go. So far Stybba can bear
you: the great race will not begin till we reach the plains.’

Then Éowyn rose up. ‘Come now, Meriadoc!’ she said. ‘I will show
you the gear that I have prepared fur you.’ They went out together. ‘This
request only did Aragorn make to me,’ said Éowyn, as they passed among
the tents, ‘that you should be armed for battle. I have granted it, as I
could. For my heart tells me that you will need such gear ere the end.’

Now she led Merry to a booth among the lodges of the king’s guard and there
an armourer brought out to her a small helm, and a round shield, and other gear.

‘No mail have we to fit you,’ said Éowyn, ‘nor any time for the
forging of such a hauberk; but here is also a stout jerkin of leather, a
belt, and a knife. A sword you have.’

Merry bowed, and the lady showed him the shield, which was like the shield
that had been given to Gimli, and it bore on it the device of the white horse.
‘Take all these things,’ she said, ‘and bear them to good fortune!
Farewell now, Master Meriadoc! Yet maybe we shall meet again, you and I.’

So it was that amid a gathering gloom the King of the Mark made ready to lead
all his Riders on the eastward road. Hearts were heavy and many quailed in the
shadow. But they were a stern people, loyal to their lord, and little weeping or
murmuring was heard, even in the camp in the Hold where the exiles from Edoras
were housed, women and children and old men. Doom hung over them, but they faced
it silently.

Two swift hours passed, and now the king sat upon his white horse, glimmering
in the half light. Proud and tall he seemed, though the hair that flowed beneath
his high helm was like snow; and many marvelled at him and took heart to see him
unbent and unafraid.

There on the wide flats beside the noisy river were marshalled in many
companies well nigh five and fifty hundreds of Riders fully armed, and many
hundreds of other men with spare horses lightly burdened. A single
trumpet sounded. The king raised his hand, and then silently the host of the
Mark began to move. Foremost went twelve of the king’s household-men, Riders
of renown. Then the king followed with Éomer on his right. He had said
farewell to Éowyn above in the Hold, and the memory was grievous;
but now he turned his mind to the road that lay ahead. Behind him Merry rode on
Stybba with the errand riders of Gondor, and behind them again twelve more of
the king’s household. They passed down the long ranks of waiting men with
stern and unmoved faces. But when they had come almost to the end of the line
one looked up glancing keenly at the hobbit. A young man, Merry thought as he
returned the glance, less in height and girth than most. He caught the glint of
clear grey eyes; and then he shivered, for it came suddenly to him that it was
the face of one without hope who goes in search of death.

On down the grey road they went beside the Snowbourn rushing on its stones;
through the hamlets of Underharrow and Upbourn, where many sad faces of women
looked out from dark doors; and so without horn or harp or music of men’s
voices the great ride into the East began with which the songs of Rohan were
busy for many long lives of men thereafter.

From dark Dunharrow in the dim morning

with thane and captain rode Thengel’s son:

to Edoras he came, the ancient halls

of the Mark-wardens mist-enshrouded;

golden timbers were in gloom mantled.

Farewell he bade to his free people,

hearth and high-seat, and the hallowed places,

where long he had feasted ere the light faded.

Forth rode the king, fear behind him,

fate before him. Fealty kept he;

oaths he had taken, all fulfilled them.

Forth rode Théoden. Five nights and days

east and onward rode the Eorlingas

through Folde and Fenmarch and the Firienwood,

six thousand spears to Sunlending,

Mundburg the mighty under Mindolluin,

Sea-kings’ city in the South-kingdom

foe-beleaguered, fire-encircled.

Doom drove them on. Darkness took them,

Horse and horseman; hoofbeats afar

sank into silence: so the songs tell us.

It was indeed in deepening gloom that the king came to Edoras, although it
was then but noon by the hour. There he halted only a short while and
strengthened his host by some three score of Riders that came late to the
weapontake. Now having eaten he made ready to set out again, and he wished his
esquire a kindly farewell. But Merry begged for the last time not to be parted
from him.

‘This is no journey for such steeds as Stybba, as I have told you ‘ said
Théoden. ‘And in such a battle as we think to make on the fields
of Gondor what would you do, Master Meriadoc, sword-thain though you be, and
greater of heart than of stature?’

‘As for that, who can tell?’ answered Merry. ‘But why, lord, did you
receive me as sword-thain, if not to stay by your side? And I would not have it
said of me in song only that I was always left behind!’

‘I received you for your safe-keeping,’ answered Théoden; ‘and
also to do as I might bid. None of my Riders can bear you as burden. If the
battle were before my gates, maybe your deeds would be remembered by the
minstrels; but it is a hundred leagues and two to Mundburg where Denethor is
lord. I will say no more.’

Merry bowed and went away unhappily, and stared at the lines of horsemen.
Already the companies were preparing to start: men were tightening girths,
looking to saddles, caressing their horses; some gazed uneasily at the lowering
sky. Unnoticed a Rider came up and spoke softly in the hobbit’s ear.

‘Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say,’ he whispered;
‘and so I have found myself.’ Merry looked up and saw that it was the young
Rider whom he had noticed in the morning. ‘You wish to go whither the Lord of
the Mark goes: I see it in your face.’

‘I do,’ said Merry.

‘Then you shall go with me,’ said the Rider. ‘I will bear you before
me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker.
Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!’

‘Thank you indeed!’ said Merry. ‘Thank you, sir, though I do not know
your name.’

‘Do you not?’ said the Rider softly. ‘Then call me Dernhelm.’

Thus it came to pass that when the king set out, before Dernhelm sat Meriadoc
the hobbit, and the great grey steed Windfola made little of the burden; for
Dernhelm was less in weight than many men, though lithe and well-knit in frame.

On into the shadow they rode. In the willow-thickets where Snowbourn flowed
into Entwash, twelve leagues east of Edoras, they camped that night. And then on
again through the Folde; and through the Fenmarch, where to their right great
oakwoods climbed on the skirts of the hills under the shades of dark Halifirien
by the borders of Gondor; but away to their left the mists lay on the marshes
fed by the mouths of Entwash. And as they rode rumour came of war in the North.
Lone men, riding wild, brought word of foes assailing their east-borders, of
orc-hosts marching in the Wold of Rohan.

‘Ride on! Ride on!’ cried Éomer. ‘Too late now to turn aside.
The fens of Entwash must guard our flank. Haste now we need. Ride on!’

And so King Théoden departed from his own
realm, and mile by mile the long road wound away, and the beacon hills marched
past: Calenhad, Min-Rimmon, Erelas, Nardol. But their fires were quenched. All
the lands were grey and still; and ever the shadow deepened before them,
and hope waned in every heart.

Chapter 4

The Siege of Gondor

Pippin was roused by Gandalf. Candles were lit in their chamber, for only a
dim twilight came through the windows; the air was heavy as with approaching
thunder.

‘What is the time?’ said Pippin yawning.

‘Past the second hour,’ said Gandalf. ‘Time to get up and make yourself
presentable. You are summoned to the Lord of the City to learn your new
duties.’

‘And will he provide breakfast?’

‘No! I have provided it: all that you will get till noon. Food is now doled
out by order.’

Pippin looked ruefully at the small loaf and (he thought) very inadequate pat
of butter which was set out for him, beside a cup of thin milk. ‘Why did you
bring me here?’ he said.

‘You know quite well,’ said Gandalf. ‘To keep you out of mischief; and
if you do not like being here, you can remember that you brought it on
yourself.’ Pippin said no more.

Before long he was walking with Gandalf once more down the cold corridor to
the door of the Tower Hall. There Denethor sat in a grey gloom, like an old
patient spider, Pippin thought: he did not seem to have moved since the day
before. He beckoned Gandalf to a seat, but Pippin was left for a while standing
unheeded. Presently the old man turned to him:

‘Well, Master Peregrin, I hope that you used yesterday to your profit, and
to your liking? Though I fear that the board is barer in this city than you
could wish.’

Pippin had an uncomfortable feeling that most of what he had said or done was
somehow known to the Lord of the City, and much was guessed of what he thought
as well. He did not answer.

‘What would you do in my service?’

‘I thought, sir, that you would tell me my duties.’

‘I will, when I learn what you are fit for,’ said Denethor. ‘But that I
shall learn soonest, maybe, if I keep you beside me. The esquire of my chamber
has begged leave to go to the out-garrison, so you shall take his place for a
while. You shall wait on me, bear errands, and talk to me, if war and council
leave me any leisure. Can you sing?’

‘Yes,’ said Pippin. ‘Well, yes, well enough for my own people. But we
have no songs fit for great halls and evil times, lord. We seldom sing of
anything more terrible than wind or rain. And most of my songs are about things
that make us laugh; or about food and drink, of course.’

‘And why should such songs be unfit for my halls, or for such hours as
these? We who have lived long under the Shadow may surely listen to echoes from
a land untroubled by it? Then we may feel that our vigil was not fruitless,
though it may have been thankless.’

Pippin’s heart sank. He did not relish the idea of singing any song of the
Shire to the Lord of Minas Tirith, certainly not the comic ones that he knew
best; they were too, well, rustic for such an occasion. He was however spared
the ordeal for the present. He was not commanded to sing. Denethor turned to
Gandalf, asking questions about the Rohirrim and their policies, and the
position of Éomer, the king’s nephew. Pippin marvelled at the amount
that the Lord seemed to know about a people that lived far away, though
it must, he thought, be many years since Denethor himself had ridden abroad.

Presently Denethor waved to Pippin and dismissed him again for a while. ‘Go
to the armouries of the Citadel,’ he said, ‘and get you there the livery and
gear of the Tower. It will be ready. It was commanded yesterday. Return when you
are clad!’

It was as he said; and Pippin soon found himself arrayed in strange garments,
all of black and silver. He had a small hauberk, its rings forged of steel,
maybe, yet black as jet; and a high-crowned helm with small raven-wings on
either side, set with a silver star in the centre of the circlet. Above the mail
was a short surcoat of black, but broidered on the breast in silver with the
token of the Tree. His old clothes were folded and
put away, but he was permitted to keep the grey cloak of Lórien, though
not to wear it when on duty. He looked now, had he known it, verily Ernil
i Pheriannath, the Prince of the Halflings, that folk had called him; but he
felt uncomfortable. And the gloom began to weigh on his spirits.

It was dark and dim all day. From the sunless dawn until evening the heavy
shadow had deepened, and all hearts in the City were oppressed. Far above a
great cloud streamed slowly westward from the Black Land, devouring light, borne
upon a wind of war; but below the air was still and breathless, as if all the
Vale of Anduin waited for the onset of a ruinous storm.

About the eleventh hour, released at last for a while from service. Pippin
came out and went in search of food and drink to cheer his heavy heart and make
his task of waiting more supportable. In the messes he met Beregond again, who
had just come from an errand over the Pelennor out to the Guard-towers upon the
Causeway. Together they strolled out to the walls; for Pippin felt imprisoned
indoors, and stifled even in the lofty citadel. Now they sat side by side again
in the embrasure looking eastward, where they had eaten and talked the day
before.

It was the sunset-hour, but the great pall had now stretched far into the
West, and only as it sank at last into the Sea did the Sun escape to send out a
brief farewell gleam before the night, even as Frodo saw it at the Cross-roads
touching the head of the fallen king. But to the fields of the Pelennor, under
the shadow of Mindolluin, there came no gleam: they were brown and drear.

Already it seemed years to Pippin since he had sat there before, in some
half-forgotten time when he had still been a hobbit, a light-hearted wanderer
touched little by the perils he had passed through. Now he was one small soldier
in a city preparing for a great assault, clad in the proud but sombre manner of
the Tower of Guard.

In some other time and place Pippin might have been pleased with his new
array, but he knew now that he was taking part in no play; he was in deadly
earnest the servant of a grim master in the greatest peril. The hauberk was
burdensome, and the helm weighed upon his head. His cloak he had cast aside upon
the seat. He turned his tired gaze away from the darkling fields below and
yawned, and then he sighed.

‘You are weary of this day?’ said Beregond.

‘Yes,’ said Pippin, ‘very: tired out with idleness and waiting. I have
kicked my heels at the door of my master’s chamber for many slow hours, while
he has debated with Gandalf and the Prince and other great persons. And I’m
not used, Master Beregond, to waiting hungry on others while they eat. It is a
sore trial for a hobbit, that. No doubt you will think I should feel the honour
more deeply. But what is the good of such honour? Indeed what is the good even
of food and drink under this creeping shadow? What does it mean? The very air
seems thick and brown! Do you often have such glooms when the wind is in the
East?’

‘Nay,’ said Beregond, ‘this is no weather of the world. This is some
device of his malice; some broil of fume from the Mountain of Fire that he sends
to darken hearts and counsel. And so it doth indeed. I wish the Lord Faramir
would return. He would not be dismayed. But now, who knows if he will ever come
back across the River out of the Darkness?’

‘Yes,’ said Pippin, ‘Gandalf, too, is anxious. He was disappointed. I
think, not to find Faramir here. And where has he got to himself? He left the
Lord’s council before the noon-meal, and in no good mood either, I thought.
Perhaps he has some foreboding of bad news.’

Suddenly as they talked they were stricken dumb, frozen as it were to
listening stones. Pippin cowered down with his hands pressed to his ears; but
Beregond, who had been looking out from the battlement as he spoke of Faramir,
remained there, stiffened, staring out with starting eyes. Pippin knew the
shuddering cry that he had heard: it was the same that he had heard long ago in
the Marish of the Shire, but now it was grown in power and hatred, piercing the
heart with a poisonous despair.

At last Beregond spoke with an effort. ‘They have come!’ he said. ‘Take
courage and look! There are fell things below.’

Reluctantly Pippin climbed on to the seat and looked out over the wall. The
Pelennor lay dim beneath him, fading away to the scarce guessed line of the
Great River. But now wheeling swiftly across it, like shadows of untimely night,
he saw in the middle airs below him five birdlike forms, horrible as
carrion-fowl yet greater than eagles, cruel as death. Now they swooped near,
venturing almost within bowshot of the walls, now they circled away.

‘Black Riders!’ muttered Pippin. ‘Black Riders of the air! But see,
Beregond!’ he cried. ‘They are looking for something, surely? See how they
wheel and swoop, always down to that point over there! And can you see something
moving on the ground? Dark little things. Yes, men on horses: four or five. Ah!
I cannot stand it! Gandalf! Gandalf save us!’

Another long screech rose and fell, and he threw himself back again from the
wall, panting like a hunted animal. Faint and seemingly remote through that
shuddering cry he heard winding up from below the sound of a trumpet ending on a
long high note.

‘Faramir! The Lord Faramir! It is his call!’ cried Beregond. ‘Brave
heart! But how can he win to the Gate, if these foul hell-hawks have other
weapons than fear? But look! They hold on. They will make the Gate. No! the
horses are running mad. Look! the men are thrown; they are running on foot. No,
one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain: he
can master both beasts and men. Ah! there one of the foul things is stooping on
him. Help! help! Will no one go out to him? Faramir!’

With that Beregond sprang away and ran off into the gloom. Ashamed of his
terror, while Beregond of the Guard thought first of the captain whom he loved,
Pippin got up and peered out. At that moment he caught a flash of white and
silver coming from the North, like a small star down on the dusky fields. It
moved with the speed of an arrow and grew as it came, converging swiftly with
the flight of the four men towards the Gate. It seemed to Pippin that a pale
light was spread about it and the heavy shadows gave way before it; and then as
it drew near he thought that he heard, like an echo in the walls, a great voice
calling.

‘Gandalf!’ he cried. ‘Gandalf! He always turns up when things are
darkest. Go on! Go on, White Rider! Gandalf, Gandalf!’ he shouted wildly, like
an onlooker at a great race urging on a runner who is far beyond encouragement.

But now the dark swooping shadows were aware of the newcomer. One wheeled
towards him; but it seemed to Pippin that he raised his hand, and from it a
shaft of white light stabbed upwards. The Nazgûl gave a long wailing cry
and swerved away; and with that the four others wavered, and then rising
in swift spirals they passed away eastward vanishing into the lowering cloud
above; and down on the Pelennor it seemed for a while less dark.

Pippin watched, and he saw the horseman and the White Rider meet and halt,
waiting for those on foot. Men now hurried out to them from the City; and soon
they all passed from sight under the outer walls, and he knew that they were
entering the Gate. Guessing that they would come at once to the Tower and the
Steward, he hurried to the entrance of the citadel. There he was joined by many
others who had watched the race and the rescue from the high walls.

It was not long before a clamour was heard in the streets leading up from the
outer circles, and there was much cheering and crying of the names of Faramir
and Mithrandir. Presently Pippin saw torches, and followed by a press of people
two horsemen riding slowly: one was in white but shining no longer, pale in the
twilight as if his fire was spent or veiled; the other was dark and his head was
bowed. They dismounted, and as grooms took Shadowfax and the other horse, they
walked forward to the sentinel at the gate: Gandalf steadily, his grey cloak
flung back, and a fire still smouldering in his eyes; the other, clad all in
green, slowly, swaying a little as a weary or a wounded man.

Pippin pressed forward as they passed under the lamp beneath the gate-arch,
and when he saw the pale face of Faramir he caught his breath. It was the face
of one who has been assailed by a great fear or anguish, but has mastered it and
now is quiet. Proud and grave he stood for a moment as he spoke to the guard,
and Pippin gazing at him saw how closely he resembled his brother Boromir - whom
Pippin had liked from the first, admiring the great man’s lordly but kindly
manner. Yet suddenly for Faramir his heart was strangely moved with a feeling
that he had not known before. Here was one with an air of high nobility such as
Aragorn at times revealed, less high perhaps, yet also less incalculable and
remote: one of the Kings of Men born into a later time, but touched with the
wisdom and sadness of the Elder Race. He knew now why Beregond spoke his name
with love. He was a captain that men would follow, that he would follow, even
under the shadow of the black wings.

‘Faramir!’ he cried aloud with the others. ‘Faramir!’ And Faramir
catching his strange voice among the clamour of the men of the City, turned and
looked down at him and was amazed.

‘Whence come you?’ he said. ‘A halfling, and in the livery of the
Tower! Whence…?’

But with that Gandalf stepped to his side and spoke. ‘He came with me from
the land of the Halflings,’ he said. ‘He came with me. But let us not tarry
here. There is much to say and to do, and you are weary. He shall come with us.
Indeed he must, for if he does not forget his new duties more easily than I do,
he must attend on his lord again within this hour. Come, Pippin, follow us!’

So at length they came to the private chamber of the Lord of the City. There
deep seats were set about a brazier of charcoal; and wine was brought; and there
Pippin, hardly noticed, stood behind the chair of Denethor and felt his
weariness little, so eagerly did he listen to all that was said.

When Faramir had taken white bread and drunk a draught of wine, he sat upon a
low chair at his father’s left hand. Removed a little upon the other side sat
Gandalf in a chair of carven wood; and he seemed at first to be asleep. For at
the beginning Faramir spoke only of the errand upon which he had been sent out
ten days before, and he brought tidings of Ithilien and of movements of the
Enemy and his allies; and he told of the fight on the road when the men of Harad
and their great beast were overthrown: a captain reporting to his master such
matters as had often been heard before, small things of border-war that now
seemed useless and petty, shorn of their renown.

Then suddenly Faramir looked at Pippin. ‘But now we come to strange
matters,’ he said. ‘For this is not the first halfling that I have seen
walking out of northern legends into the Southlands.’

At that Gandalf sat up and gripped the arms of his chair; but he said
nothing, and with a look stopped the exclamation on Pippin’s lips. Denethor
looked at their faces and nodded his head, as though in sign that he had read
much there before it was spoken. Slowly, while the others sat silent and still,
Faramir told his tale, with his eyes for the most part on Gandalf, though now
and again his glance strayed to Pippin, as if to refresh his memory of others
that he had seen.

As his story was unfolded of his meeting with Frodo and his servant and of
the events at Henneth Annûn, Pippin became aware that Gandalf’s hands
were trembling as they clutched the carven wood. White they seemed now and very
old, and as he looked at them, suddenly with a thrill of fear Pippin knew
that Gandalf, Gandalf himself, was troubled, even afraid. The air of the room
was close and still. At last when Faramir spoke of his parting with the
travellers, and of their resolve to go to Cirith Ungol, his voice fell, and he
shook his head and sighed. Then Gandalf sprang up.

‘Cirith Ungol? Morgul Vale?’ he said. ‘The time, Faramir, the time?
When did you part with them? When would they reach that accursed valley?’

‘I parted with them in the morning two days ago,’ said Faramir. ‘It is
fifteen leagues thence to the vale of the Morgulduin, if they went straight
south; and then they would be still five leagues westward of the accursed Tower.
At swiftest they could not come there before today, and maybe they have not come
there yet. Indeed I see what you fear. But the darkness is not due to their
venture. It began yestereve, and all Ithilien was under shadow last night. It is
clear to me that the Enemy has long planned an assault on us, and its hour had
already been determined before ever the travellers left my keeping.’

Gandalf paced the floor. ‘The morning of two days ago, nigh on three days
of journey! How far is the place where you parted?’

‘Some twenty-five leagues as a bird flies,’ answered Faramir. ‘But I
could not come more swiftly. Yestereve I lay at Cair Andros, the long isle in
the River northward which we hold in defence; and horses are kept on the hither
bank. As the dark drew on I knew that haste was needed, so I rode thence with
three others that could also be horsed. The rest of my company I sent south to
strengthen the garrison at the fords of Osgiliath. I hope that I have not done
ill?’ He looked at his father.

‘Ill?’ cried Denethor, and his eyes flashed suddenly. ‘Why do you ask?
The men were under your command. Or do you ask for my judgement on all your
deeds? Your bearing is lowly in my presence, yet it is long now since you turned
from your own way at my counsel. See, you have spoken skilfully, as ever; but I,
have I not seen your eye fixed on Mithrandir, seeking whether you said well or
too much? He has long had your heart in his keeping.

‘My son, your father is old but not yet dotard. I can see and hear, as was
my wont; and little of what you have half said or left unsaid is now hidden from
me. I know the answer to many riddles. Alas, alas for Boromir!’

‘If what I have done displeases you, my father,’ said Faramir quietly,
‘I wish I had known your counsel before the burden of so weighty a judgement
was thrust on me.’

‘Would that have availed to change your judgement?’ said Denethor. ‘You
would still have done just so, I deem. I know you well. Ever your desire is to
appear lordly and generous as a king of old, gracious, gentle. That may well
befit one of high race, if he sits in power and peace. But in desperate hours
gentleness may be repaid with death.’

‘So be it,’ said Faramir.

‘So be it!’ cried Denethor. ‘But not with your death only, Lord
Faramir: with the death also of your father, and of all your people, whom it is
your part to protect now that Boromir is gone.’

‘Do you wish then,’ said Faramir, ‘that our places had been
exchanged?’

‘Yes, I wish that indeed,’ said Denethor. ‘For Boromir was loyal to me
and no wizard’s pupil. He would have remembered his father’s need, and would
not have squandered what fortune gave. He would have brought me a mighty
gift.’

For a moment Faramir’s restraint gave way. ‘I would ask you, my father,
to remember why it was that I, not he, was in Ithilien. On one occasion at least
your counsel has prevailed, not long ago. It was the Lord of the City that gave
the errand to him.’

‘Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,’ said
Denethor. ‘Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue foreboding that
worse yet lay in the dregs? As now indeed I find. Would it were not so! Would
that this thing had come to me!’

‘Comfort yourself!’ said Gandalf. ‘In no case would Boromir have
brought it to you. He is dead, and died well; may he sleep in peace! Yet you
deceive yourself. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking
it he would have fallen. He would have kept it for his own, and when he returned
you would not have known your son.’

The face of Denethor set hard and cold. ‘You found Boromir less apt to your
hand, did you not?’ he said softly. ‘But I who was his father say that he
would have brought it to me. You are wise, maybe, Mithrandir, yet with all your
subtleties you have not all wisdom. Counsels may be found that are neither the
webs of wizards nor the haste of fools. I have in this matter more lore and
wisdom than you deem. ‘

‘What then is your wisdom?’ said Gandalf.

‘Enough to perceive that there are two follies to avoid. To use this thing
is perilous. At this hour, to send it in the hands of a witless halfling into
the land of the Enemy himself, as you have done, and this son of mine, that is
madness.’

‘And the Lord Denethor what would he have done?’

‘Neither. But most surely not for any argument would he have set this thing
at a hazard beyond all but a fool’s hope, risking our utter ruin, if the Enemy
should recover what he lost. Nay, it should have been kept, hidden, hidden dark
and deep. Not used, I say, unless at the uttermost end of need, but set beyond
his grasp, save by a victory so final that what then befell would not trouble
us, being dead.’

‘You think, as is your wont, my lord, of Gondor only,’ said Gandalf.
‘Yet there are other men and other lives, and time still to be. And for me, I
pity even his slaves.’

‘And where will other men look for help, if Gondor falls?’ answered
Denethor. ‘If I had this thing now in the deep vaults of this citadel, we
should not then shake with dread under this gloom, fearing the worst, and our
counsels would be undisturbed. If you do not trust me to endure the test, you do
not know me yet.’

‘Nonetheless I do not trust you,’ said Gandalf. ‘Had I done so, I could
have sent this thing hither to your keeping and spared myself and others much
anguish. And now hearing you speak I trust you less, no more than Boromir. Nay,
stay your wrath! I do not trust myself in this, and I refused this thing, even
as a freely given gift. You are strong and can still in some matters govern
yourself, Denethor; yet if you had received this thing, it would have overthrown
you. Were it buried beneath the roots of Mindolluin, still it would burn your
mind away, as the darkness grows, and the yet worse things follow that soon
shall come upon us.’

For a moment the eyes of Denethor glowed again as he faced Gandalf, and
Pippin felt once more the strain between their wills; but now almost it seemed
as if their glances were like blades from eye to eye, flickering as they fenced.
Pippin trembled fearing some dreadful stroke. But suddenly Denethor relaxed and
grew cold again. He shrugged his shoulders.

‘If I had! If you had!’ he said. ‘Such words and ifs are vain. It has
gone into the Shadow, and only time will show what doom awaits it and us. The
time will not be long. In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their
fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the
hardihood to die free.’ He turned to Faramir. ‘What think you of the
garrison at Osgiliath?’

‘It is not strong,’ said Faramir. ‘I have sent the company of Ithilien
to strengthen it, as I have said.’

‘Not enough, I deem,’ said Denethor. ‘It is there that the first blow
will fall. They will have need of some stout captain there.’

‘There and elsewhere in many places,’ said Faramir, and sighed. ‘Alas
for my brother, whom I too loved!’ He rose. ‘May I have your leave,
father?’ And then he swayed and leaned upon his father’s chair.

‘You are weary, I see,’ said Denethor. ‘You have ridden fast and far,
and under shadows of evil in the air, I am told.’

‘Let us not speak of that!’ said Faramir.

‘Then we will not,’ said Denethor. ‘Go now and rest as you may.
Tomorrow’s need will be sterner.’

All now took leave of the Lord of the City and went to rest while they still
could. Outside there was a starless blackness as Gandalf with Pippin beside him
bearing a small torch, made his way to their lodging. They did not speak until
they were behind closed doors. Then at last Pippin took Gandalf’s hand.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘is there any hope? For Frodo, I mean; or at least
mostly for Frodo.’

Gandalf put his hand on Pippin’s head. ‘There never was much hope,’ he
answered. ‘Just a fool’s hope, as I have been told. And when I heard of
Cirith Ungol---‘ He broke off and strode to the window as if his eyes could
pierce the night in the East. ‘Cirith Ungol!’ he muttered. ‘Why that way,
I wonder?’ He turned. ‘Just now, Pippin, my heart almost failed me, hearing
that name. And yet in truth I believe that the news that Faramir brings has some
hope in it. For it seems clear that our Enemy has opened his war at last and
made the first move while Frodo was still free. So now for many days he will
have his eye turned this way and that, away from his own land. And yet, Pippin,
I feel from afar his haste and fear. He has begun sooner than he would.
Something has happened to stir him.’

Gandalf stood for a moment in thought. ‘Maybe,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe
even your foolishness helped, my lad. Let me see: some five days ago now he
would discover that we had thrown down Saruman and had taken the Stone. Still
what of that? We could not use it to much purpose, or without his knowing. Ah! I
wonder. Aragorn? His time draws near. And he is strong and stern underneath,
Pippin; bold, determined, able to take his own counsel and dare great risks at
need. That may be it. He may have used the Stone and shown himself to the Enemy,
challenging him, for this very purpose. I wonder. Well, we shall not know the
answer till the Riders of Rohan come, if they do not come too late. There are
evil days ahead. To sleep while we may!’

‘But,’ said Pippin.

‘But what?’ said Gandalf. ‘Only one but will I allow tonight.’

‘Gollum,’ said Pippin. ‘How on earth could they be going about with
him, even following him? And I could see that Faramir did not like the place he
was taking them to any more than you do. What is wrong?’

‘I cannot answer that now,’ said Gandalf. ‘Yet my heart guessed that
Frodo and Gollum would meet before the end. For good, or for evil. But of Cirith
Ungol I will not speak tonight. Treachery, treachery I fear; treachery of that
miserable creature. But so it must be. Let us remember that a traitor may betray
himself and do good that he does not intend. It can be so, sometimes. Good
night! ‘

The next day came with a morning like a brown dusk, and the hearts of men,
lifted for a while by the return of Faramir, sank low again. The winged Shadows
were not seen again that day, yet ever and anon, high above the city, a faint
cry would come, and many who heard it would stand stricken with a passing dread,
while the less stout-hearted quailed and wept.

And now Faramir was gone again. ‘They give him no rest,’ some murmured.
‘The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for
himself and for the one that will not return.’ And ever men looked northward,
asking: ‘Where are the Riders of Rohan?’

In truth Faramir did not go by his own choosing. But the Lord of the City was
master of his Council, and he was in no mood that day to bow to others. Early in
the morning the Council had been summoned. There all the captains judged that
because of the threat in the South their force was too weak to make any stroke
of war on their own part, unless perchance the Riders of Rohan yet should come.
Meanwhile they must man the walls and wait.

‘Yet,’ said Denethor, ‘we should not lightly abandon the outer
defences, the Rammas made with so great a labour. And the Enemy must pay dearly
for the crossing of the River. That he cannot do, in force to assail the City,
either north of Cair Andros because of the marshes, or southwards towards
Lebennin because of the breadth of the River, that needs many boats. It is at
Osgiliath that he will put his weight, as before when Boromir denied him the
passage.’

‘That was but a trial,’ said Faramir. ‘Today we may make the Enemy pay
ten times our loss at the passage and yet rue the exchange. For he can afford to
lose a host better than we to lose a company. And the retreat of those that we
put out far afield will be perilous, if he wins across in force.’

‘And what of Cair Andros?’ said the Prince. ‘That, too, must be held,
if Osgiliath is defended. Let us not forget the danger on our left. The Rohirrim
may come, and they may not. But Faramir has told us of great strength drawing
ever to the Black Gate. More than one host may issue from it, and strike for
more than one passage.’

‘Much must be risked in war,’ said Denethor. ‘Cair Andros is manned and
no more can be sent so far. But I will not yield the River and the Pelennor
unfought - not if there is a captain here who has still the courage to do his
lord’s will.’

Then all were silent, but at length Faramir said: ‘I do not oppose your
will, sire. Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will go and do what I can in his
stead - if you command it.’

‘I do so,’ said Denethor.

‘Then farewell!’ said Faramir. ‘But if I should return, think better of
me!’

‘That depends on the manner of your return,’ said Denethor.

Gandalf it was that last spoke to Faramir ere he rode east. ‘Do not throw
your live away rashly or in bitterness,’ he said. ‘You will be needed here,
for other things than war. Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it
ere the end. Farewell!’

So now the Lord Faramir had gone forth again, and had taken with him such
strength of men as were willing to go or could be spared. On the walls some
gazed through the gloom towards the ruined city, and they wondered what chanced
there, for nothing could be seen. And others, as
ever, looked north and counted the leagues to Théoden in Rohan. ‘Will
he come? Will he remember our old alliance?’ they said.

‘Yes, he will come,’ said Gandalf, ‘even if he comes too late. But
think! At best the Red Arrow cannot have reached him more than two days ago, and
the miles are long from Edoras.’

It was night again ere news came. A man rode in haste from the fords, saying
that a host had issued from Minas Morgul and was already drawing nigh to
Osgiliath; and it had been joined by regiments from the South, Haradrim, cruel
and tall. ‘And we have learned ‘ said the messenger, ‘that the Black
Captain leads them once again, and the fear of him has passed before him over
the River.’

With those ill-boding words the third day closed since Pippin came to Minas
Tirith. Few went to rest, for small hope had any now that even Faramir could
hold the fords for long.

The next day, though the darkness had reached its full and grew no deeper, it
weighed heavier on men’s hearts, and a great dread was on them. Ill news came
soon again. The passage of Anduin was won by the Enemy. Faramir was retreating
to the wall of the Pelennor, rallying his men to the Causeway Forts; but he was
ten times outnumbered.

‘If he wins back at all across the Pelennor, his enemies will be on his
heels,’ said the messenger. ‘They have paid dear for the crossing but less
dearly than we hoped. The plan has been well laid. It is now seen that in secret
they have long been building floats and barges in great numbers in East
Osgiliath. They swarmed across like beetles. But it is the Black Captain that
defeats us. Few will stand and abide even the rumour of his coming. His own folk
quail at him, and they would slay themselves at his bidding.’

‘Then I am needed there more than here,’ said Gandalf, and rode off at
once, and the glimmer of him faded soon from sight. And all that night Pippin
alone and sleepless stood upon the wall and gazed eastward.

The bells of day had scarcely rung out again, a mockery in the unlightened
dark, when far away he saw fires spring up, across in the dim spaces where the
walls of the Pelennor stood. The watchmen cried aloud, and all men in the City
stood to arms. Now ever and anon there was a red flash, and slowly through the
heavy air dull rumbles could be heard.

‘They have taken the wall!’ men cried. ‘They are blasting breaches in
it. They are coming!’

‘Where is Faramir?’ cried Beregond in dismay. ‘Say not that he has
fallen!’

It was Gandalf that brought the first tidings. With a handful of horsemen he
came in the middle morning, riding as escort to a line of wains. They were
filled with wounded men, all that could be saved from the wreck of the Causeway
Forts. At once he went to Denethor. The Lord of the City sat now in a high
chamber above the Hall of the White Tower with Pippin at his side; and through
the dim windows, north and south and east, he bent his dark eyes, as if to
pierce the shadows of doom that ringed him round. Most to the north he looked,
and would pause at whiles to listen as if by some ancient art his ears might
hear the thunder of hoofs on the plains far away.

‘Is Faramir come?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Gandalf. ‘But he still lived when I left him. Yet he is
resolved to stay with the rearguard, lest the retreat over the Pelennor become a
rout. He may, perhaps, hold his men together long enough, but I doubt it. He is
pitted against a foe too great. For one has come that I feared.’

‘Not - the Dark Lord?’ cried Pippin, forgetting his place in his terror.

Denethor laughed bitterly. ‘Nay, not yet, Master Peregrin! He will not come
save only to triumph over me when all is won. He uses others as his weapons. So
do all great lords, if they are wise, Master Halfling. Or why should I sit here
in my tower and think, and watch, and wait, spending even my sons? For I can
still wield a brand.’

He stood up and cast open his long black cloak, and behold! he was clad in
mail beneath, and girt with a long sword, great-hilted in a sheath of black and
silver. ‘Thus have I walked, and thus now for many years have I slept,’ he
said, ‘lest with age the body should grow soft and timid.’

‘Yet now under the Lord of Barad-dûr the most fell of all his
captains is already master of your outer walls,’ said Gandalf. ‘King of
Angmar long ago, Sorcerer, Ringwraith, Lord of the Nazgûl, a spear of
terror in the hand of Sauron, shadow of despair.’

‘Then, Mithrandir, you had a foe to match you,’ said Denethor. ‘For
myself, I have long known who is the chief captain of the hosts of the Dark
Tower. Is this all that you have returned to say? Or can it be that you have
withdrawn because you are overmatched?’

Pippin trembled, fearing that Gandalf would be stung to sudden wrath, but his
fear was needless. ‘It might be so,’ Gandalf answered softly. ‘But our
trial of strength is not yet come. And if words spoken of old be true, not by
the hand of man shall he fall, and hidden from the Wise is the doom that awaits
him. However that may be, the Captain of Despair does not press forward, yet. He
rules rather according to the wisdom that you have just spoken, from the rear,
driving his slaves in madness on before.

‘Nay, I came rather to guard the hurt men that can yet be healed; for the
Rammas is breached far and wide, and soon the host of Morgul will enter in at
many points. And I came chiefly to say this. Soon there will be battle on the
fields. A sortie must be made ready. Let it be of mounted men. In them lies our
brief hope, for in one thing only is the enemy still poorly provided: he has few
horsemen.’

‘And we also have few. Now would the coming of Rohan be in the nick of
time,’ said Denethor.

‘We are likely to see other newcomers first,’ said Gandalf. ‘Fugitives
from Cair Andros have already reached us. The isle has fallen. Another army is
come from the Black Gate, crossing from the north-east.’

‘Some have accused you, Mithrandir, of delighting to bear ill news,’ said
Denethor, ‘but to me this is no longer news: it was known to mw ere nightfall
yesterday. As for the sortie, I had already given thought to it. Let us go
down.’

Time passed. At length watchers on the walls could see the retreat of the
out-companies. Small bands of weary and often wounded men came first with little
order; some were running wildly as if pursued. Away to the eastward the distant
fires flickered; and now it seemed that here and there they crept across the
plain. Houses and barns were burning. Then from many points little rivers of red
flame came hurrying on, winding through the gloom, converging towards the line
of the broad road that led from the City-gate to Osgiliath.

‘The enemy,’ men murmured. ‘The dike is down. Here they come pouring
through the breaches! And they carry torches, it seems. Where are our own
folk?’

It drew now to evening by the hour, and the light was so dim that even
far-sighted men upon the Citadel could discern little clearly out upon the
fields, save only the burnings that ever multiplied, and the lines of fire that
grew in length and speed. At last, less than a mile from the City, a more
ordered mass of men came into view, marching not running, still holding
together.

The watchers held their breath. ‘Faramir must be there,’ they said. ‘He
can govern man and beast. He will make it yet.’

Now the main retreat was scarcely two furlongs distant. Out of the gloom
behind a small company of horsemen galloped, all that was left of the rearguard.
Once again they turned at bay, facing the oncoming lines of fire. Then suddenly
there was a tumult of fierce cries. Horsemen of the enemy swept up. The lines of
fire became flowing torrents, file upon file of
Orcs bearing flames, and wild Southron men with red banners, shouting with harsh
tongues, surging up, overtaking the retreat. And with a piercing cry out of the
dim sky fell the winged shadows, the Nazgûl stooping to the kill.

The retreat became a rout. Already men were breaking away, flying wild and
witless here and there, flinging away their weapons, crying out in fear, falling
to the ground.

And then a trumpet rang from the Citadel, and Denethor at last released the
sortie. Drawn up within the shadow of the Gate and under the looming walls
outside they had waited for his signal: all the mounted men that were left in
the City. Now they sprang forward, formed, quickened to a gallop, and charged
with a great shout. And from the walls an answering shout went up; for foremost
on the field rode the swan-knights of Dol Amroth with their Prince and his blue
banner at their head.

‘Amroth for Gondor!’ they cried. ‘Amroth to Faramir!’

Like thunder they broke upon the enemy on either flank of the retreat; but
one rider outran them all, swift as the wind in the grass: Shadowfax bore him,
shining, unveiled once more, a light starting from his upraised hand.

The Nazgûl screeched and swept away, for their Captain was not yet come
to challenge the white fire of his foe. The hosts of Morgul intent on
their prey, taken at unawares in wild career, broke, scattering like sparks in a
gale. The out-companies with a great cheer turned and smote their pursuers.
Hunters became the hunted. The retreat became an onslaught. The field was strewn
with stricken orcs and men, and a reek arose of torches cast away, sputtering
out in swirling smoke. The cavalry rode on.

But Denethor did not permit them to go far. Though the enemy was checked, and
for the moment driven back, great forces were flowing in from the East. Again
the trumpet rang, sounding the retreat. The cavalry of Gondor halted. Behind
their screen the out-companies re-formed. Now steadily they came marching back.
They reached the Gate of the City and entered, stepping proudly: and proudly the
people of the City looked on them and cried their praise, and yet they were
troubled in heart. For the companies were grievously reduced. Faramir had lost a
third of his men. And where was he?

Last of all he came. His men passed in. The mounted knights returned, and at
their rear the banner of Dol Amroth, and the Prince. And in his arms before him
on his horse he bore the body of his kinsman, Faramir son of Denethor, found
upon the stricken field.

‘Faramir! Faramir!’ men cried, weeping in
the streets. But he did not answer, and they bore him away up the winding road
to the Citadel and his father. Even as the Nazgûl had swerved aside from
the onset of the White Rider, there came flying a deadly dart, and Faramir, as
he held at bay a mounted champion of Harad, had fallen to the earth. Only
the charge of Dol Amroth had saved him from the red southland swords that would
have hewed him as he lay.

The Prince Imrahil brought Faramir to the White Tower, and he said: Your son
has returned, lord, after great deeds, and he told all that he had seen. But
Denethor rose and looked on the face of his son and was silent. Then he bade
them make a bed in the chamber and lay Faramir upon it and depart. But he
himself went up alone into the secret room under the summit of the Tower; and
many who looked up thither at that time saw a pale light that gleamed and
flickered from the narrow windows for a while, and then flashed and went out.
And when Denethor descended again he went to Faramir and sat beside him without
speaking, but the face of the Lord was grey, more deathlike than his son’s.

So now at last the City was besieged, enclosed in a ring of foes. The Rammas
was broken, and all the Pelennor abandoned to the Enemy. The last word to come
from outside the walls was brought by men flying
down the northward road ere the Gate was shut. They were the remnant of the
guard that was kept at that point where the way from Anórien and Rohan
ran into the townlands: Ingold led them, the same who had admitted Gandalf
and Pippin less than five days before, while the sun still rose and there was
hope in the morning.

‘There is no news of the Rohirrim,’ he said. ‘Rohan will not come now.
Or if they come, it will not avail us. The new host that we had tidings of has
come first, from over the River by way of Andros, it is said. They are strong:
battalions of Orcs of the Eye, and countless companies of Men of a new sort that
we have not met before. Not tall, but broad and grim, bearded like dwarves,
wielding great axes. Out of some savage land in the
wide East they come, we deem. They hold the northward road; and many have passed
on into Anórien. The Rohirrim cannot come.’

The Gate was shut. All night watchmen on the walls heard the rumour of the
enemy that roamed outside, burning field and tree, and hewing any man that they
found abroad, living or dead. The numbers that had already passed over the River
could not be guessed in the darkness, but when morning, or its dim shadow, stole
over the plain, it was seen that even fear by night had scarcely over-counted
them. The plain was dark with their marching companies, and as far as eyes could
strain in the mirk there sprouted, like a foul fungus-growth, all about the
beleaguered city great camps of tents, black or sombre red.

Busy as ants hurrying orcs were digging, digging lines of deep trenches in a
huge ring, just out of bowshot from the walls; and as the trenches were made
each was filled with fire, though how it was kindled or fed, by art or devilry,
none could see. All day the labour went forward, while the men of Minas Tirith
looked on, unable to hinder it. And as each length of trench was completed, they
could see great wains approaching; and soon yet more companies of the enemy were
swiftly setting up, each behind the cover of a trench, great engines for the
casting of missiles. There were none upon the City walls large enough to reach
so far or to stay the work.

At first men laughed and did not greatly fear such devices. For the main wall
of the City was of great height and marvellous
thickness, built ere the power and craft of Númenor waned in exile; and
its outward face was like to the Tower of Orthanc, hard and dark and smooth,
unconquerable by steel or fire, unbreakable except by some convulsion that would
rend the very earth on which it stood.

‘Nay,’ they said, ‘not if the Nameless One himself should come, not
even he could enter here while we yet live.’ But some answered: ‘While we
yet live? How long? He has a weapon that has brought low many strong places
since the world began. Hunger. The roads are cut. Rohan will not come.’

But the engines did not waste shot upon the indomitable wall. It was no
brigand or orc-chieftain that ordered the assault upon the Lord of Mordor’s
greatest foe. A power and mind of malice guided it. As soon as the great
catapults were set, with many yells and the creaking of rope and winch, they
began to throw missiles marvellously high, so that they passed right above the
battlement and fell thudding within the first circle of the City; and many of
them by some secret art burst into flame as they came toppling down.

Soon there was great peril of fire behind the wall, and all who could be
spared were busy quelling the flames that sprang up in many places. Then among
the greater casts there fell another hail, less ruinous but more horrible. All
about the streets and lanes behind the Gate it tumbled down, small round shot
that did not burn. But when men ran to learn what it might be, they cried aloud
or wept. For the enemy was flinging into the City all the heads of those who had
fallen fighting at Osgiliath, or on the Rammas, or in the fields. They were grim
to look on; for though some were crushed and shapeless, and some had been
cruelly hewn, yet many had features that could be told, and it seemed that they
had died in pain; and all were branded with the foul token of the Lidless Eye.
But marred and dishonoured as they were, it often chanced that thus a man would
see again the face of someone that he had known, who had walked proudly once in
arms, or tilled the fields, or ridden in upon a holiday from the green vales in
the hills.

In vain men shook their fists at the pitiless foes that swarmed before the
Gate. Curses they heeded not, nor understood the tongues of western men; crying
with harsh voices like beasts and carrion-birds. But soon there were few left in
Minas Tirith who had the heart to stand up and defy the hosts of Mordor. For yet
another weapon, swifter than hunger, the Lord of the Dark Tower had: dread and
despair.

The Nazgûl came again, and as their Dark Lord now grew and put
forth his strength, so their voices, which uttered only his will and his malice,
were filled with evil and horror. Ever they circled above the City, like
vultures that expect their fill of doomed men’s flesh. Out of sight and shot
they flew, and yet were ever present, and their deadly voices rent the air. More
unbearable they became, not less, at each new cry. At length even the
stout-hearted would fling themselves to the ground as the hidden menace passed
over them, or they would stand, letting their weapons fall from nerveless hands
while into their minds a blackness came, and they thought no more of war, but
only of hiding and of crawling, and of death.

During all this black day Faramir lay upon his bed in the chamber of the
White Tower, wandering in a desperate fever; dying someone said, and soon
‘dying’ all men were saying upon the walls and in the streets. And by him
his father sat, and said nothing, but watched, and gave no longer any heed to
the defence.

No hours so dark had Pippin known, not even in the clutches of the Uruk-hai.
It was his duty to wait upon the Lord, and wait he did, forgotten it seemed,
standing by the door of the unlit chamber, mastering his own fears as best he
could. And as he watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his
eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was
overthrown. Grief maybe had wrought it, and remorse. He saw tears on that once
tearless face, more unbearable than wrath.

‘Do not weep, lord,’ he stammered. ‘Perhaps he will get well. Have you
asked Gandalf?’

‘Comfort me not with wizards!’ said Denethor. ‘The fool’s hope has
failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very
thoughts, and all we do is ruinous.

‘I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and
here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war,
my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk
shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all
are hounded out.’

Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City. ‘Nay, I will not come
down,’ he said. ‘I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the
end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope
has failed. Here I stay.’

So it was that Gandalf took command of the last defence of the City of
Gondor. Wherever he came men’s hearts would lift again, and the winged shadows
pass from memory. Tirelessly he strode from Citadel
to Gate, from north to south about the wall; and with him went the Prince of Dol
Amroth in his shining mail. For he and his knights still held themselves like
lords in whom the race of Númenor ran true. Men that saw them whispered
saying: ‘Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the
veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long
ago.’ And then one would sing amid the gloom some staves of the Lay of
Nimrodel, or other songs of the Vale of Anduin out of vanished years.

And yet - when they had gone, the shadows closed on men again, and their
hearts went cold, and the valour of Gondor withered into ash. And so slowly they
passed out of a dim day of fears into the darkness of a desperate night. Fires
now raged unchecked in the first circle of the City, and the garrison upon the
outer wall was already in many places cut off from retreat. But the faithful who
remained there at their posts were few; most had fled beyond the second gate.

Far behind the battle the River had been swiftly bridged, and all day more
force and gear of war had poured across. Now at last in the middle night the
assault was loosed. The vanguard passed through the trenches of fire by many
devious paths that had been left between them. On they came, reckless of their
loss as they approached, still bunched and herded, within the range of bowmen on
the wall. But indeed there were too few now left there to do them great damage,
though the light of the fires showed up many a mark for archers of such skill as
Gondor once had boasted. Then perceiving that the valour of the City was already
beaten down, the hidden Captain put forth his strength. Slowly the great
siege-towers built in Osgiliath rolled forward through the dark.

Messengers came again to the chamber in the White Tower, and Pippin let them
enter, for they were urgent. Denethor turned his head slowly from Faramir’s
face, and looked at them silently.

‘The first circle of the City is burning, lord,’ they said. ‘What are
your commands? You are still the Lord and Steward. Not all will follow
Mithrandir. Men are flying from the walls and leaving them unmanned.’

‘Why? Why do the fools fly?’ said Denethor. ‘Better to burn sooner than
late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! And I? I will go now to my
pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep
of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed
hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!’

The messengers without bow or answer turned and fled.

Now Denethor stood up and released the fevered hand of Faramir that he had
held. ‘He is burning, already burning,’ he said sadly. ‘The house of his
spirit crumbles.’ Then stepping softly towards Pippin he looked down at him.

‘Farewell!’ he said. ‘Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service
has been short, and now it is drawing to an end. I release you from the little
that remains. Go now, and die in what way seems best to you. And with whom you
will, even that friend whose folly brought you to this death. Send for my
servants and then go. Farewell!’

‘I will not say farewell, my lord,’ said Pippin kneeling. And then
suddenly hobbit-like once more, he stood up and looked the old man in the eyes.
‘I will take your leave, sir,’ he said; ‘for I want to see Gandalf very
much indeed. But he is no fool; and I will not think of dying until he despairs
of life. But from my word and your service I do not wish to be released while
you live. And if they come at last to the Citadel, I hope to be here and stand
beside you and earn perhaps the arms that you have given me.’

‘Do as you will, Master Halfling,’ said Denethor. ‘But my life is
broken. Send for my servants!’ He turned back to Faramir.

Pippin left him and called for the servants, and they came: six men of the
household, strong and fair; yet they trembled at the summons. But in a quiet
voice Denethor bade them lay warm coverlets on Faramir’s bed and take it up.
And they did so, and lifting up the bed they bore it from the chamber. Slowly
they paced to trouble the fevered man as little as might be, and Denethor, now
bending on a staff, followed them; and last came Pippin.

Out from the White Tower they walked, as if to a funeral, out into the
darkness, where the overhanging cloud was lit beneath with flickers of dull red.
Softly they paced the great courtyard, and at a word from Denethor halted beside
the Withered Tree.

All was silent, save for the rumour of war in the City down below, and they
heard the water dripping sadly from the dead branches into the dark pool. Then
they went on through the Citadel gate, where the sentinel stared at them in
wonder and dismay as they passed by. Turning westward they came at length to a
door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Fen Hollen it was called, for it
was kept ever shut save at times of funeral, and only the Lord of the City might
use that way, or those who bore the token of the tombs and tended the houses of
the dead. Beyond it went a winding road that descended in many curves down to
the narrow land under the shadow of Mindolluin’s precipice where stood the
mansions of the dead Kings and of their Stewards.

A porter sat in a little house beside the way, and with fear in his eyes he
came forth bearing a lantern in his hand. At the Lord’s command he unlocked
the door, and silently it swung back; and they passed through, taking the
lantern from his hand. It was dark on the climbing road between ancient walls
and many-pillared balusters looming in the swaying lantern-beam. Their slow feet
echoed as they walked down, down, until at last they came to the Silent Street,
Rath Dínen, between pale domes and empty halls and images of men long
dead; and they entered into the House of the Stewards and set down their burden.

There Pippin, staring uneasily about him, saw that he was in a wide vaulted
chamber, draped as it were with the great shadows that the little lantern threw
upon its shrouded walls. And dimly to be seen were many rows of tables, carved
of marble; and upon each table lay a sleeping form, hands folded, head pillowed
upon stone. But one table near at hand stood broad and bare. Upon it at a sign
from Denethor they laid Faramir and his father side by side, and covered them
with one covering, and stood then with bowed heads as mourners beside a bed of
death. Then Denethor spoke in a low voice.

‘Here we will wait,’ he said. ‘But send not for the embalmers. Bring us
wood quick to burn, and lay it all about us, and beneath; and pour oil upon it.
And when I bid you thrust in a torch. Do this and speak no more to me.
Farewell!’

‘By your leave, lord!’ said Pippin and turned and fled in terror from the
deathly house. ‘Poor Faramir!’ he thought. ‘I must find Gandalf. Poor
Faramir! Quite likely he needs medicine more than tears. Oh, where can I find
Gandalf? In the thick of things, I suppose; and he will have no time to spare
for dying men or madmen.’

At the door he turned to one of the servants who had remained on guard there.
‘Your master is not himself,’ he said. ‘Go slow! Bring no fire to this
place while Faramir lives! Do nothing until Gandalf comes!’

‘Who is the master of Minas Tirith?’ the man answered. ‘The Lord
Denethor or the Grey Wanderer?’

‘The Grey Wanderer or no one, it would seem,’ said Pippin, and he sped
back and up the winding way as swiftly as his feet would carry him, past the
astonished porter, out through the door, and on, till he came near the gate of
the Citadel. The sentinel hailed him as he went by, and he recognized the voice
of Beregond.

‘Whither do you run, Master Peregrin?’ he cried.

‘To find Mithrandir,’ Pippin answered.

‘The Lord’s errands are urgent and should not be hindered by me,’ said
Beregond; ‘but tell me quickly, if you may: what goes forward? Whither has my
Lord gone? I have just come on duty, but I heard that he passed towards the
Closed Door, and men were bearing Faramir before him.’

‘Yes,’ said Pippin, ‘to the Silent Street.’

Beregond bowed his head to hide his tears. ‘They said that he was dying,’
he sighed, ‘and now he is dead.’

‘No,’ said Pippin, ‘not yet. And even now his death might be prevented,
I think. But the Lord of the City, Beregond, has fallen before his city is
taken. He is fey and dangerous.’ Quickly he told of Denethor’s strange words
and deeds. ‘I must find Gandalf at once.’

‘Then you must go down to the battle.’

‘I know. The Lord has given me leave. But, Beregond, if you can, do
something to stop any dreadful thing happening.’

‘The Lord does not permit those who wear the black and silver to leave
their post for any cause, save at his own command.’

‘Well, you must choose between orders and the life of Faramir,’ said
Pippin. ‘And as for orders, I think you have a madman to deal with, not a
lord. I must run. I will return if I can.’

He ran on, down, down towards the outer city. Men flying back from the
burning passed him, and some seeing his livery turned and shouted, but he paid
no heed. At last he was through the Second Gate, beyond which great fires leaped
up between the walls. Yet it seemed strangely silent. No noise or shouts of
battle or din of arms could be heard. Then suddenly there was a dreadful cry and
a great shock, and a deep echoing boom. Forcing himself on against a gust of
fear and horror that shook him almost to his knees. Pippin turned a corner
opening on the wide place behind the City Gate. He stopped dead. He had found
Gandalf; but he shrank back, cowering into a shadow.

Ever since the middle night the great assault had gone on. The drums rolled.
To the north and to the south company upon company of the enemy pressed to the
walls. There came great beasts, like moving houses in the red and fitful light,
the mûmakil of the Harad
dragging through the lanes amid the fires huge towers and engines. Yet their
Captain cared not greatly what they did or how many might be slain: their
purpose was only to test the strength of the defence and to keep the men of
Gondor busy in many places. It was against the Gate that he would throw his
heaviest weight. Very strong it might be, wrought of steel and iron, and guarded
with towers and bastions of indomitable stone, yet it was the key, the weakest
point in all that high and impenetrable wall.

The drums rolled louder. Fires leaped up. Great engines crawled across the
field; and in the midst was a huge ram, great as a forest-tree a hundred feet in
length, swinging on mighty chains. Long had it been forging in the dark smithies
of Mordor, and its hideous head, founded of black steel, was shaped in the
likeness of a ravening wolf; on it spells of ruin lay. Grond they named it, in
memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Great beasts drew it, Orcs
surrounded it, and behind walked mountain-trolls to wield it.

But about the Gate resistance still was stout, and there the knights of Dol
Amroth and the hardiest of the garrison stood at bay. Shot and dart fell thick;
siege-towers crashed or blazed suddenly like torches. All before the walls on
either side of the Gate the ground was choked with wreck and with bodies of the
slain; yet still driven as by a madness more and more came up.

Grond crawled on. Upon its housing no fire would catch; and though now and
again some great beast that hauled it would go mad and spread stamping ruin
among the orcs innumerable that guarded it, their bodies were cast aside from
its path and others took their place.

Grond crawled on. The drums rolled wildly. Over the hills of slain a hideous
shape appeared: a horseman, tall, hooded, cloaked in black. Slowly, trampling
the fallen, he rode forth, heeding no longer any dart. He halted and held up a
long pale sword. And as he did so a great fear fell on all, defender and foe
alike; and the hands of men drooped to their sides, and no bow sang. For a
moment all was still.

The drums rolled and rattled. With a vast rush Grond was hurled forward by
huge hands. It reached the Gate. It swung. A deep boom rumbled through the City
like thunder running in the clouds. But the doors of iron and posts of steel
withstood the stroke.

Then the Black Captain rose in his stirrups and cried aloud in a dreadful
voice, speaking in some forgotten tongue words of power and terror to rend both
heart and stone.

Thrice he cried. Thrice the great ram boomed. And suddenly upon the last
stroke the Gate of Gondor broke. As if stricken by some blasting spell it burst
asunder: there was a flash of searing lightning, and the doors tumbled in riven
fragments to the ground.

In rode the Lord of the Nazgûl. A great black shape against the fires
beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. In rode the Lord of the
Nazgûl, under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed, and
all fled before his face.

All save one. There waiting, silent and still in the space before the Gate,
sat Gandalf upon Shadowfax: Shadowfax who alone among the free horses of the
earth endured the terror, unmoving, steadfast as a graven image in
Rath Dínen.

‘You cannot enter here,’ said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. ‘Go
back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that
awaits you and your Master. Go!’

The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! he had a kingly crown; and
yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the
mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly
laughter.

‘Old fool!’ he said. ‘Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death
when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!’ And with that he lifted high his
sword and flames ran down the blade.

Gandalf did not move. And in that very moment, away behind in some courtyard
of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of
wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the
shadows of death was coming with the dawn.

And as if in answer there came from far away another note. Horns, horns,
horns. In dark Mindolluin’s sides they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North
wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.

Chapter 5

The Ride of the Rohirrim

It was dark and Merry could see nothing as he lay on the ground rolled in a
blanket; yet though the night was airless and windless, all about him hidden
trees were sighing softly. He lifted his head. Then he heard it again: a sound
like faint drums in the wooded hills and mountain-steps. The throb would cease
suddenly and then be taken up again at some other point, now nearer, now further
off. He wondered if the watchmen had heard it.

He could not see them, but he knew that all round him were the companies of
the Rohirrim. He could smell the horses in the dark, and could hear their
shiftings and their soft stamping on the needle-covered ground. The host was
bivouacked in the pine-woods that clustered about
Eilenach Beacon, a tall hill standing up from the long ridges of the Drúadan
Forest that lay beside the great road in East Anórien.

Tired as he was Merry could not sleep. He had ridden now for four days on
end, and the ever-deepening gloom had slowly weighed down his heart. He began to
wonder why he had been so eager to come, when he had been given every excuse,
even his lord’s command, to stay behind. He wondered, too, if the old King
knew that he had been disobeyed and was angry. Perhaps not. There seemed to be
some understanding between Dernhelm and Elfhelm, the Marshal who commanded the éored
in which they were riding. He and all his men ignored Merry and pretended not to
hear if he spoke. He might have been just another bag that Dernhelm was
carrying. Dernhelm was no comfort: he never spoke to anyone. Merry felt small,
unwanted, and lonely. Now the time was anxious, and the host was in peril. They
were less than a day’s ride from the out-walls of Minas Tirith that encircled
the townlands. Scouts had been sent ahead. Some had not returned. Others
hastening back had reported that the road was held in force against them. A host
of the enemy was encamped upon it, three miles west of Amon Dîn, and some
strength of men was already thrusting along the road and was no more than three
leagues away. Orcs were roving in the hills and woods along the roadside. The
king and Éomer held council in the watches of the night.

Merry wanted somebody to talk to, and he thought of Pippin. But
that only increased his restlessness. Poor Pippin, shut up in the great city of
stone, lonely and afraid. Merry wished he was a tall Rider like Éomer and
could blow a horn or something and go galloping to his rescue. He sat up,
listening to the drums that were beating again, now nearer at hand.
Presently he heard voices speaking low, and he saw dim half-shrouded lanterns
passing through the trees. Men nearby began to move uncertainly in the dark.

A tall figure loomed up and stumbled over him, cursing the tree-roots. He
recognized the voice of the Marshal, Elfhelm.

‘I am not a tree-root, Sir,’ he said, ‘nor a bag, but a bruised hobbit.
The least you can do in amends is to tell me what is afoot.’

‘Anything that can keep so in this devil’s mirk,’ answered Elfhelm.
‘But my lord sends word that we must set ourselves in readiness: orders may
come for a sudden move.’

‘Is the enemy coming then?’ asked Merry anxiously. ‘Are those their
drums? I began to think I was imagining them, as no one else seemed to take any
notice of them.’

‘Nay, nay,’ said Elfhelm, ‘the enemy is on the road not in the hills.
You hear the Woses, the Wild Men of the Woods: thus they talk together from
afar. They still haunt Drúadan Forest, it is said. Remnants of an older
time they be, living few and secretly, wild and wary as the beasts. They
go not to war with Gondor or the Mark; but now they are troubled by the darkness
and the coming of the orcs: they fear lest the Dark Years be returning, as seems
likely enough. Let us be thankful that they are not
hunting us: for they use poisoned arrows, it is said, and they are woodcrafty
beyond compare. But they have offered their services to Théoden. Even now
one of their headmen is being taken to the king. Yonder go the lights. So much I
have heard but no more. And now I must busy myself with my lord’s
commands. Pack yourself up, Master Bag!’ He vanished into the shadows.

Merry did not like this talk of wild men and poisoned darts, but quite apart
from that a great weight of dread was on him. Waiting was unbearable. He longed
to know what was going to happen. He got up and soon was walking warily in
pursuit of the last lantern before it disappeared among the trees.

Presently he came to an open space where a small tent had been set up for the
king under a great tree. A large lantern, covered
above, was hanging from a bough and cast a pale circle of light below. There sat
Théoden and Éomer, and before them on the ground sat a strange
squat shape of a man, gnarled as an old stone, and the hairs of his scanty beard
straggled on his lumpy chin like dry moss. He was short-legged and fat-armed,
thick and stumpy, and clad only with grass about his waist. Merry felt that he
had seen him before somewhere, and suddenly he remembered the Púkel-men
of Dunharrow. Here was one of those old images brought to life, or maybe
a creature descended in true line through endless years from the models used by
the forgotten craftsmen long ago.

There was a silence as Merry crept nearer, and then the Wild Man began to
speak, in answer to some question, it seemed. His voice was deep and guttural,
yet to Merry’s surprise he spoke the Common Speech, though in a halting
fashion, and uncouth words were mingled with it.

‘No, father of Horse-men,’ he said, ‘we fight not. Hunt only. Kill gorgûn
in woods, hate orc-folk. You hate gorgûn
too. We help as we can. Wild Men have long ears and long eyes; know all paths.
Wild Men live here before Stone-houses; before Tall Men come up out of Water.’

‘But our need is for aid in battle,’ said Éomer. ‘How will
you and your folk help us?’

‘Bring news,’ said the Wild Man. ‘We look out from hills. We climb big
mountain and look down. Stone-city is shut. Fire burns there outside; now inside
too. You wish to come there? Then you must be quick. But gorgûn
and men out of far-away,’ he waved a short gnarled arm eastward, ‘sit on
horse-road. Very many, more than Horse-men.’

‘How do you know that?’ said Éomer.

The old man’s flat face and dark eyes showed nothing, but his voice was
sullen with displeasure. ‘Wild men are wild,
free, but not children,’ he answered. ‘I am great headman, Ghân-buri-Ghân.
I count many things: stars in sky, leaves on trees, men in the dark. You have a
score of scores counted ten times and five. They have more. Big fight, and who
will win? And many more walk round walls of Stone-houses.’

‘Alas! he speaks all too shrewdly,’ said Théoden. ‘And our
scouts say that they have cast trenches and stakes across the road. We cannot
sweep them away in sudden onset.’

‘And yet we need great haste,’ said Éomer. ‘Mundburg is
on fire!’

‘Let Ghân-buri-Ghân finish!’ said the Wild Man. ‘More than
one road he knows. He will lead you by road where no pits are, no gorgûn
walk, only Wild Men and beasts. Many paths were made when Stonehouse-folk were
stronger. They carved hills as hunters carve
beast-flesh. Wild Men think they ate stone for food. They went through Drúadan
to Rimmon with great wains. They go no longer. Road is forgotten, but not by
Wild Men. Over hill and behind hill it lies still under grass and tree, there
behind Rimmon and down to Dîn, and back at the end to Horse-men’s road.
Wild Men will show you that road. Then you will kill gorgûn
and drive away bad dark with bright iron, and Wild Men can go back to sleep in
the wild woods.’

Éomer and the king spoke together in their own tongue. At length Théoden
turned to the Wild Man. ‘We will receive your offer,’ he said. ‘For though
we leave a host of foes behind, what matter? If the Stone-city falls, then we
shall have no returning. If it is saved, then the orc-host itself will be cut
off. If you are faithful, Ghân-buri-Ghân, then we will give you rich
reward, and you shall have the friendship of the Mark for ever.’

‘Dead men are not friends to living men, and give them no gifts,’ said
the Wild Man. ‘But if you live after the
Darkness, then leave Wild Men alone in the woods and do not hunt them like
beasts any more. Ghân-buri-Ghân will not lead you into trap. He will
go himself with father of Horse-men, and if he leads you wrong, you will kill
him.’

‘So be it!’ said Théoden.

‘How long will it take to pass by the enemy and come back to the road?’
asked Éomer. ‘We must go at foot-pace, if you guide us; and I doubt not
the way is narrow.’

‘Wild Men go quick on feet,’ said Ghân. ‘Way is wide for four
horses in Stonewain Valley yonder,’ he waved his hand southwards; ‘but
narrow at beginning and at end. Wild Man could walk from here to Dîn
between sunrise and noon.’

‘Then we must allow at least seven hours for the leaders,’ said Éomer;
‘but we must reckon rather on some ten hours for all. Things unforeseen
may hinder us, and if our host is all strung out, it will be long ere it can be
set in order when we issue from the hills. What is the hour now?’

‘Who knows?’ said Théoden. ‘All is night now.’

‘It is all dark, but it is not all night.’
said Ghân. ‘When Sun comes we feel her, even when she is hidden. Already
she climbs over East-mountains. It is the opening of day in the sky-fields.’

‘Then we must set out as soon as may be,’ said Éomer. ‘Even so
we cannot hope to come to Gondor’s aid today.’

Merry waited to hear no more, but slipped away to get ready for the summons
to the march. This was the last stage before the battle. It did not seem likely
to him that many of them would survive it. But he thought of Pippin and the
flames in Minas Tirith and thrust down his own dread.

All went well that day, and no sight or sound had they of the enemy waiting
to waylay them. The Wild Men had put out a screen of wary hunters, so that no
orc or roving spy should learn of the movements in the
hills. The light was more dim than ever as they drew nearer to the beleaguered
city, and the Riders passed in long files like dark shadows of men and horses.
Each company was guided by a wild woodman; but old Ghân walked beside the
king. The start had been slower than was hoped, for it had taken time for
the Riders, walking and leading their horses, to find paths over the thickly
wooded ridges behind their camp and down into the hidden Stonewain Valley. It
was late in the afternoon when the leaders came to
wide grey thickets stretching beyond the eastward side of Amon Dîn, and
masking a great gap in the line of hills that from Nardol to Dîn ran east
and west. Through the gap the forgotten wain-road long ago had run down, back
into the main horse-way from the City through Anórien; but now for many
lives of men trees had had their way with it, and it had vanished, broken and
buried under the leaves of uncounted years. But the thickets offered to the
Riders their last hope of cover before they went into open battle; for
beyond them lay the road and the plains of Anduin, while east and southwards the
slopes were bare and rocky, as the writhen hills gathered themselves together
and climbed up, bastion upon bastion, into the great mass and shoulders of
Mindolluin.

The leading company was halted, and as those behind filed up out of the
trough of the Stonewain Valley they spread out and passed to camping-places
under the grey trees. The king summoned the captains to council. Éomer
sent out scouts to spy upon the road; but old Ghân shook his head.

‘No good to send Horse-men,’ he said. ‘Wild Men have already seen all
that can be seen in the bad air. They will come soon and speak to me here.’

The captains came; and then out of the trees crept warily other púkel-shapes
so like old Ghân that Merry could hardly tell them apart. They spoke to Ghân
in a strange throaty language.

Presently Ghân turned to the king. ‘Wild Men say many things ‘ he
said. ‘First, be wary! Still many men in camp beyond Dîn, an hour’s
walk yonder,’ he waved his arm west towards the black beacon. ‘But
none to see between here and Stone-folk’s new walls. Many busy there. Walls
stand up no longer: gorgûn
knock them down with earth-thunder and with clubs of black iron. They are unwary
and do not look about them. They think their
friends watch all roads!’ At that old Ghân made a curious gurgling
noise, and it seemed that he was laughing.

‘Good tidings!’ cried Éomer. ‘Even in this gloom hope gleams
again. Our Enemy’s devices oft serve us in his despite. The accursed
darkness itself has been a cloak to us. And now, lusting to destroy Gondor and
throw it down stone from stone, his orcs have taken away my greatest fear. The
out-wall could have been held long against us. Now we can sweep through - if
once we win so far.’

‘Once again I thank you, Ghân-buri-Ghân of the woods,’ said
Théoden. ‘Good fortune go with you for tidings and for guidance!’

‘To do these things we have ridden far,’ said the king, ‘and we shall
attempt them. But what we shall achieve only tomorrow will show.’

Ghân-buri-Ghân squatted down and touched the earth with his horny
brow in token of farewell. Then he got up as if to depart. But suddenly
he stood looking up like some startled woodland animal snuffling a strange air.
A light came in his eyes.

‘Wind is changing!’ he cried, and with that, in a twinkling as it seemed,
he and his fellows had vanished into the glooms, never to be seen by any Rider
of Rohan again. Not long after far away eastward the faint drums throbbed again.
Yet to no heart in all the host came any fear that the Wild Men were unfaithful,
strange and unlovely though they might appear.

‘We need no further guidance,’ said Elfhelm; ‘for there are riders in
the host who have ridden down to Mundburg in days of peace. I for one. When we
come to the road it will veer south, and there will lie before us still seven
leagues ere we reach the wall of the townlands. Along most of that way there is
much grass on either side of the road. On that stretch the errand-riders of
Gondor reckoned to make their greatest speed. We may ride it swiftly and without
great rumour.’

‘Then since we must look for fell deeds and the need
of all our strength,’ said Éomer, ‘I counsel that we rest now, and
set out hence by night, and so time our going that we come upon the fields when
tomorrow is as light as it will be, or when our lord gives the signal.’

To this the king assented, and the captains departed. But soon Elfhelm
returned. ‘The scouts have found naught to report beyond the grey wood,
lord,’ he said, ‘save two men only: two dead men and two dead horses.’

‘Well?’ said Éomer. ‘What of it?’

‘This, lord: they were errand-riders of Gondor; Hirgon was one maybe. At
least his hand still clasped the Red Arrow, but his head was hewn off. And this
also: it would seem by the signs that they were fleeing westward when
they fell. As I read it, they found the enemy already on the out-wall, or
assailing it, when they returned - and that would be two nights ago, if they
used fresh horses from the posts, as is their wont. They could not reach the
City and turned back.’

‘Alas!’ said Théoden. ‘Then Denethor has heard no news of our
riding and will despair of our coming.’

‘Need brooks no delay, yet late is better than never,’
said Éomer. ‘And mayhap in this time shall the old saw be proved truer
than ever before since men spoke with mouth.’

It was night. On either side of the road the host of Rohan was moving
silently. Now the road passing about the skirts of Mindolluin turned southward.
Far away and almost straight ahead there was a red glow under the black sky and
the sides of the great mountain loomed dark against it. They were drawing near
the Rammas of the Pelennor; but the day was not yet come.

The king rode in the midst of the leading company, his household-men about
him. Elfhelm’s éored came
next; and now Merry noticed that Dernhelm had left his place and in the darkness
was moving steadily forward, until at last he was riding just in rear of the
king’s guard. There came a check. Merry heard voices in front speaking softly.
Out-riders had come back who had ventured forward almost to the wall. They came
to the king.

‘There are great fires, lord,’ said one. ‘The City is all set about
with flame, and the field is full of foes. But all seem drawn off to the
assault. As well as we could guess, there are few left upon the out-wall, and
they are heedless, busy in destruction.’

‘Do you remember the Wild Man’s words,
lord?’ said another. ‘I live upon the open Wold in days of peace; Wídfara
is my name, and to me also the air brings messages. Already the wind is turning.
There comes a breath out of the South; there is a sea-tang in it, faint though
it be. The morning will bring new things. Above the reek it will be dawn
when you pass the wall.’

‘If you speak truly, Wídfara, then may you live beyond this day in
years of blessedness!’ said Théoden. He turned to the men of his
household who were near, and he spoke now in a clear voice so that many
also of the riders of the first éored
heard him:

‘Now is the hour come, Riders of the Mark, sons of Eorl! Foes and fire are
before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien
field, the glory that you reap there shall be your own for ever. Oaths ye have
taken: now fulfil them all, to lord and land and league of friendship!’

Men clashed spear upon shield.

‘Éomer, my son! You lead the first éored,’ said Théoden;
‘and it shall go behind the king’s banner in the centre. Elfhelm,
lead your company to the right when we pass the wall. And Grimbold shall lead
his towards the left. Let the other companies behind follow these three that
lead, as they have chance. Strike wherever the enemy gathers. Other plans we
cannot make, for we know not yet how things stand upon the field. Forth now, and
fear no darkness!’

The leading company rode off as swiftly as they could, for it was still deep
dark, whatever change Wídfara might forebode. Merry was riding behind
Dernhelm, clutching with the left hand while with the other he tried to
loosen his sword in its sheath. He felt now bitterly the truth of the old
king’s words: in such a battle what would you do Meriadoc? Just
this,’ he thought: ‘encumber a rider, and hope at best to stay in my seat
and not be pounded to death by galloping hoofs!’

It was no more than a league to where the out-walls had stood. They soon
reached them; too soon for Merry. Wild cries broke out, and there was some clash
of arms, but it was brief. The orcs busy about the walls were few and amazed,
and they were quickly slain or driven off. Before the ruin of the north-gate in
the Rammas the king halted again. The first éored
drew up behind him and about him on either side. Dernhelm kept close to the
king, though Elfhelm’s company was away on the right. Grimbold’s men turned
aside and passed round to a great gap in the wall further eastward.

Merry peered from behind Dernhelm’s back. Far away, maybe ten miles or
more, there was a great burning, but between it and the Riders lines of fire
blazed in a vast crescent, at the nearest point less than a league distant. He
could make out little more on the dark plain, and as yet he neither saw any hope
of morning, nor felt any wind, changed or unchanged.

Now silently the host of Rohan moved forward into the field of Gondor,
pouring in slowly but steadily, like the rising tide through breaches in a dike
that men have thought secure. But the mind and will of the Black Captain were
bent wholly on the falling city, and as yet no tidings came to him warning that
his designs held any flaw.

After a while the king led his men away somewhat eastward, to come between
the fires of the siege and the outer fields. Still they were unchallenged, and
still Théoden gave no signal. At last he halted once again. The
City was now nearer. A smell of burning was in the air and a very shadow of
death. The horses were uneasy. But the king sat upon Snowmane, motionless,
gazing upon the agony of Minas Tirith, as if stricken suddenly by anguish, or
by dread. He seemed to shrink down, cowed by age. Merry himself felt as if a
great weight of horror and doubt had settled on him. His heart beat slowly. Time
seemed poised in uncertainty. They were too late! Too late was worse than never!
Perhaps Théoden would quail, bow his old head, turn, slink away to
hide in the hills.

Then suddenly Merry felt it at last, beyond doubt: a change. Wind was in his
face! Light was glimmering. Far, far away, in the South the clouds could be
dimly seen as remote grey shapes, rolling up, drifting: morning lay beyond them.

But at that same moment there was a flash, as if lightning had sprung from
the earth beneath the City. For a searing second it stood dazzling far off in
black and white, its topmost tower like a glittering needle: and then as the
darkness closed again there came rolling over the fields a great boom.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and
proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more
clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before:

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!

spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,

a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

With that he seized a great horn from Guthláf
his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And
straightway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing
of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a
thunder in the mountains.

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his
banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it.
After him thundered the knights of his house, but
he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his
helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored
roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be
overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new tire in
his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë
the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield
was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass
flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning
and a wind from the sea; and the darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor
wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath
rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as
they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing
that was fair and terrible came even to the City.

Chapter 6

The Battle of the Pelennor Fields

But it was no orc-chieftain or brigand that led the assault upon Gondor. The
darkness was breaking too soon, before the date that his Master had set for it:
fortune had betrayed him for the moment, and the world had turned against him;
victory was slipping from his grasp even as he
stretched out his hand to seize it. But his arm was long. He was still in
command, wielding great powers. King, Ringwraith, Lord of the Nazgûl, he
had many weapons. He left the Gate and vanished.

Théoden King of the Mark had reached the road from the Gate to
the River, and he turned towards the City that was now less than a mile distant.
He slackened his speed a little, seeking new foes, and his knights came about
him, and Dernhelm was with them. Ahead nearer the walls Elfhelm’s men were
among the siege-engines, hewing, slaying, driving their foes into the fire-pits.
Well nigh all the northern half of the Pelennor was overrun, and there camps
were blazing, orcs were flying towards the River like herds before the hunters;
and the Rohirrim went hither and thither at their will. But they had not yet
overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate. Many foes stood before it, and on the
further half of the plain were other hosts still unfought. Southward beyond the
road lay the main force of the Haradrim, and there their horsemen were gathered
about the standard of their chieftain. And he looked out, and in the growing
light he saw the banner of the king, and that it was far ahead of the battle
with few men about it. Then he was filled with a red wrath and shouted aloud,
and displaying his standard, black serpent upon scarlet, he came against the
white horse and the green with great press of men; and the drawing of the
scimitars of the Southrons was like a glitter of stars.

Then Théoden was aware of him, and would not wait for his
onset, but crying to Snowmane he charged headlong to greet him. Great was the
clash of their meeting. But the white fury of the Northmen burned the hotter,
and more skilled was their knighthood with long spears and bitter.
Fewer were they but they clove through the Southrons like a fire-bolt in a
forest. Right through the press drove Théoden Thengel’s son, and his
spear was shivered as he threw down their chieftain. Out swept his sword, and he
spurred to the standard, hewed staff and bearer; and the black serpent
foundered. Then all that was left unslain of their cavalry turned and fled far
away.

But lo! suddenly in the midst of the glory of the king his golden shield was
dimmed. The new morning was blotted from the sky. Dark fell about him. Horses
reared and screamed. Men cast from the saddle lay grovelling on the ground.

‘To me! To me!’ cried Théoden. ‘Up Eorlingas! Fear no
darkness!’ But Snowmane wild with terror stood up on high, fighting with the
air, and then with a great scream he crashed upon his side: a black dart
had pierced him. The king fell beneath him.

The great shadow descended like a falling cloud. And behold! it was a winged
creature: if bird, then greater than all other birds, and it was naked, and
neither quill nor feather did it bear, and its vast pinions were as webs of hide
between horned fingers; and it stank. A creature of an older world maybe it was,
whose kind, fingering in forgotten mountains cold beneath the Moon, outstayed
their day, and in hideous eyrie bred this last untimely brood, apt to evil. And
the Dark Lord took it, and nursed it with fell meats, until it grew beyond the
measure of all other things that fly; and he gave it to his servant to be his
steed. Down, down it came, and then, folding its fingered webs, it gave a
croaking cry, and settled upon the body of Snowmane, digging in its claws,
stooping its long naked neck.

Upon it sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. A crown of steel he
bore, but between rim and robe naught was there to
see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes: the Lord of the Nazgûl. To the air
he had returned, summoning his steed ere the darkness failed, and now he was
come again, bringing ruin, turning hope to despair, and victory to death. A
great black mace he wielded.

But Théoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay
slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far
away. Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; and
he wept, for he had loved his lord as a father. Right through the charge
Merry had been borne unharmed behind him, until the Shadow came; and then
Windfola had thrown them in his terror, and now ran wild upon the plain. Merry
crawled on all fours like a dazed beast, and such a horror was on him that he
was blind and sick.

‘King’s man! King’s man!’ his heart cried within him. ‘You must
stay by him. As a father you shall be to me, you said.’ But his will made no
answer, and his body shook. He dared not open his eyes or look up.

Then out of the blackness in his mind he thought that he heard Dernhelm
speaking; yet now the voice seemed strange, recalling some other voice that he
had known.

‘Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!’

A cold voice answered: ‘Come not between the
Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear
thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh
shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.’

A sword rang as it was drawn. ‘Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I
may.’

‘Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!’

Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that
Dernhelm laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring
of steel. ‘But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am,
Éomund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if
you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch
him.’

The winged creature screamed at her, but the Ringwraith made no answer, and
was silent, as if in sudden doubt. Very amazement for a moment conquered
Merry’s fear. He opened his eyes and the blackness was lifted from them. There
some paces from him sat the great beast, and all seemed
dark about it, and above it loomed the Nazgûl Lord like a shadow of
despair. A little to the left facing them stood she whom he had called Dernhelm.
But the helm of her secrecy, had fallen from her, and her bright hair, released
from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey
as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek. A sword was in
her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy’s eyes.

Éowyn it was, and Dernhelm also. For into Merry’s mind
flashed the memory of the face that he saw at the riding from Dunharrow: the
face of one that goes seeking death, having no hope. Pity filled his heart and
great wonder, and suddenly the slow-kindled courage of his race awoke. He
clenched his hand. She should not die, so fair, so desperate At least she should
not die alone, unaided.

The face of their enemy was not turned towards him, but still he hardly dared
to move, dreading lest the deadly eyes should fall on him. Slowly, slowly he
began to crawl aside; but the Black Captain, in doubt and malice intent upon the
woman before him, heeded him no more than a worm in the mud.

Suddenly the great beast beat its hideous wings, and the wind of them was
foul. Again it leaped into the air, and then swiftly fell
down upon Éowyn, shrieking, striking with beak and claw.

Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but
as a steel-blade, fair but terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and
deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a
stone. Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings
outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A
light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.

Out of the wreck rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above
her. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let fall his
mace. Her shield was shivered in many pieces, and her arm was broken; she
stumbled to her knees. He bent over her like a cloud, and his eyes glittered; he
raised his mace to kill.

But suddenly he too stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain, and his
stroke went wide, driving into the ground. Merry’s sword had stabbed him from
behind, shearing through the black mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk
had pierced the sinew behind his mighty knee.

‘Éowyn! Éowyn!’ cried Merry. Then tottering, struggling up,
with her last strength she drove her sword between crown and mantle, as the
great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards.
The crown rolled away with a clang. Éowyn fell forward upon her fallen
foe. But lo! the mantle and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the
ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and
faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that
died, and was swallowed up, and was never heard again in that age of this world.

And there stood Meriadoc the hobbit in the midst of the slain, blinking like
an owl in the daylight, for tears blinded him; and
through a mist he looked on Éowyn’s fair head, as she lay and did not
move; and he looked on the face of the king, fallen in the midst of his glory,
For Snowmane in his agony had rolled away from him again; yet he was the
bane of his master.

Then Merry stooped and lifted his hand to kiss it, and lo! Théoden
opened his eyes, and they were clear, and he spoke in a quiet voice though
laboured.

‘Farewell, Master Holbytla!’ he said. ‘My body is broken. I go to my
fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled
the black serpent. A grim morn, and a glad day, and a golden sunset!’

Merry could not speak, but wept anew. ‘Forgive me, lord,’ he said at
last, ‘if I broke your command, and yet have done no more in your service than
to weep at our parting.’

The old king smiled. ‘Grieve not! It is forgiven. Great heart will not be
denied. Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think
of me! For never now shall I sit with you in
Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore.’ He closed his eyes, and
Merry bowed beside him. Presently he spoke again. ‘Where is Éomer? For
my eyes darken, and I would see him ere I go. He must be king after me. And I
would send word to Éowyn. She, she would not have me leave her,
and now I shall not see her again, dearer than daughter.’

‘Lord, lord,’ began Merry brokenly, ‘she is-‘; but at that moment
there was a great clamour, and all about them horns and trumpets were blowing.
Merry looked round: he had forgotten the war, and all the world beside, and many
hours it seemed since the king rode to his fall, though in truth it was only a
little while. But now he saw that they were in danger of being caught in the
very midst of the great battle that would soon be joined.

New forces of the enemy were hastening up the road from the River; and from
under the walls came the legions of Morgul; and from the southward fields came
footmen of Harad with horsemen before them, and behind them rose the huge backs
of the mûmakil
with war-towers upon them. But northward the white crest of Éomer led the
great front of the Rohirrim which he had again gathered and marshalled; and out
of the City came all the strength of men that was in it, and the silver swan of
Dol Amroth was borne in the van, driving the enemy from the Gate.

For a moment the thought flitted through Merry’s mind: ‘Where is Gandalf?
Is he not here? Could he not have saved the king and Éowyn?’ But
thereupon Éomer rode up in haste, and with him came the knights of the
household that still lived and had now mastered their horses. They looked in
wonder at the carcase of the fell beast that lay there: and their steeds would
not go near. But Éomer leaped from the saddle, and grief and dismay fell
upon him as he came to the king’s side and stood there in silence.

Then one of the knights took the king’s banner from the hand of Guthláf
the banner-bearer who lay dead, and he lifted it up. Slowly Théoden
opened his eyes. Seeing the banner he made a sign that it should be given to
Éomer.

‘Hail, King of the Mark!’ he said. ‘Ride now to victory! Bid Éowyn
farewell!’ And so he died, and knew not that Éowyn lay near him. And
those who stood by wept, crying: ‘Théoden King! Théoden King!’

But Éomer said to them:

Mourn not overmuch! Mighty was the fallen,

meet was his ending. When his mound is raised,

women then shall weep. War now calls us!

Yet he himself wept as he spoke. ‘Let his knights remain here,’ he said;
‘and bear his body in honour from the field, lest the battle ride
over it! Yea, and all these other of the king’s men that lie here.’ And he
looked at the slain, recalling their names. Then suddenly he beheld his sister
Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is
pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his
face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed
him for a while. A fey mood took him.

‘Éowyn, Éowyn!’ he cried at last: ‘Éowyn, how come
you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death
take us all!’

Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the
City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew a horn,
and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling:
‘Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world’s ending!’

And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more. Death
they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a great
tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring away
southwards.

And still Meriadoc the hobbit stood there blinking through his tears and no
one spoke to him, indeed none seemed to heed him. He brushed away the tears, and
stooped to pick up the green shield that Éowyn had given him; and
he slung it at his back. Then he looked for his sword that he had let fall; for
even as he struck his blow his arm was numbed, and now he could only use his
left hand. And behold! there lay his weapon, but the blade was smoking like a
dry branch that has been thrust in a fire; and as he watched it, it writhed and
withered and was consumed.

So passed the sword of the Barrow-downs, work of Westernesse. But glad would
he have been to know its fate who wrought it slowly long ago in the North-kingdom
when the Dúnedain were young, and chief among their foes was the dread
realm of Angmar and its sorcerer king. No other blade, not though mightier hands
had wielded it, would have dealt that foe a wound so bitter, cleaving the undead
flesh, breaking the spell that knit his unseen sinews to his will.

Men now raised the king, and laying cloaks upon spear-truncheons they made
shift to bear him away towards the City; and others lifted Éowyn gently
up and bore her after him. But the men of the king’s household they could not
yet bring from the field; for seven of the king’s knights had fallen there,
and Déorwine their chief was among them. So they laid them apart from
their foes and the fell beast and set spears about them. And afterwards when all
was over men returned and made a fire there and burned the carcase of the
beast; but for Snowmane they dug a grave and set up a stone upon which was
carved in the tongues of Gondor and the Mark:

Faithful servant yet master’s bane

Lightfoot’s foal, swift Snowmane.

Green and long grew the grass on Snowmane’s Howe, but ever black and bare
was the ground where the beast was burned.

Now slowly and sadly Merry walked beside the bearers, and he gave no more
heed to the battle. He was weary and full of pain, and his limbs trembled
as with a chill. A great rain came out of the Sea, and it seemed that all things
wept for Théoden and Éowyn, quenching the fires in the City with
grey tears. It was through a mist that presently he saw the van of the men of
Gondor approaching. Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, rode up and drew rein
before them.

‘What burden do you bear, Men of Rohan?’ he cried.

‘Théoden King,’ they answered. ‘He is dead. But Éomer
King now rides in the battle: he with the white crest in the wind.’

Then the prince went from his horse, and knelt
by the bier in honour of the king and his great onset; and he wept. And rising
he looked then on Éowyn and was amazed. ‘Surely, here is a woman?’ he
said. ‘Have even the women of the Rohirrim come to war in our need?’

‘Nay! One only,’ they answered. ‘The Lady
Éowyn is she, sister of Éomer; and we knew naught of her riding
until this hour, and greatly we rue it.’

Then the prince seeing her beauty, though her face was pale and cold, touched
her hand as he bent to look more closely on her. ‘Men of Rohan!’ he cried.
‘Are there no leeches among you? She is hurt to the death maybe, but I deem
that she yet lives.’ And he held the bright-burnished vambrace that was upon
his arm before her cold tips, and behold! a little mist was laid on it hardly to
be seen.

‘Haste now is needed,’ he said, and he sent one riding back swiftly to
the City to bring aid. But he bowing low to the fallen, bade them farewell, and
mounting rode away into battle.

And now the fighting waxed furious on the fields of the Pelennor; and the din
of arms rose upon high, with the crying of men and the neighing of horses. Horns
were blown and trumpets were braying, and the mûmakil
were bellowing as they were goaded to war. Under the south walls of the City the
footmen of Gondor now drove against the legions of
Morgul that were still gathered there in strength. But the horsemen rode
eastward to the succour of Éomer: Húrin the Tall Warden of the
Keys, and the Lord of Lossarnach, and Hirluin of the Green Hills, and Prince
Imrahil the fair with his knights all about him.

Not too soon came their aid to the Rohirrim; for fortune had turned against
Éomer, and his fury had betrayed him. The great wrath of his onset had
utterly overthrown the front of his enemies, and great wedges of his Riders
had passed clear through the ranks of the Southrons, discomfiting their horsemen
and riding their footmen to ruin. But wherever the mûmakil
came there the horses would not go, but blenched and swerved away; and the great
monsters were unfought, and stood like towers of defence, and the Haradrim
rallied about them. And if the Rohirrim at their onset were thrice outnumbered
by the Haradrim alone, soon their case became worse; for new strength came now
streaming to the field out of Osgiliath. There they had been mustered for the
sack of the City and the rape of Gondor, waiting on the call of their Captain.
He now was destroyed; but Gothmog the lieutenant of Morgul had flung them into
the fray; Easterlings with axes, and Variags of Khand. Southrons in scarlet, and
out of Far Harad black men like half-trolls with white eyes and red tongues.
Some now hastened up behind the Rohirrim, others held westward to hold off the
forces of Gondor and prevent their joining with Rohan.

It was even as the day thus began to turn against Gondor and their hope
wavered that a new cry went up in the City, it being then midmorning, and a
great wind blowing, and the rain flying north, and the sun shining. In that
clear air watchmen on the walls saw afar a new sight of fear, and their last
hope left them.

For Anduin, from the bend at the Harlond, so flowed that from the City men
could look down it lengthwise for some leagues, and the far-sighted could see
any ships that approached. And looking thither they cried in dismay; for black
against the glittering stream they beheld a fleet borne up on the wind:
dromunds, and ships of great draught with many oars, and with black sails
bellying in the breeze.

‘The Corsairs of Umbar!’ men shouted. ‘The Corsairs of Umbar! Look! The
Corsairs of Umbar are coming! So Belfalas is taken, and the Ethir, and Lebennin
is gone. The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!’

And some without order, for none could he found to command them in the City,
ran to the bells and tolled the alarm; and some blew the trumpets sounding the
retreat. ‘Back to the walls!’ they cried. ‘Back to the walls! Come back to
the City before all are overwhelmed!’ But the wind that sped the ships blew
all their clamour away.

The Rohirrim indeed had no need of news or alarm.
All too well they could see for themselves the black sails. For Éomer was
now scarcely a mile from the Harlond, and a great press of his first foes was
between him and the haven there, while new foes came swirling behind, cutting
him off from the Prince. Now he looked to the River, and hope died in his
heart, and the wind that he had blessed he now called accursed. But the hosts of
Mordor were enheartened, and filled with a new lust and fury they came yelling
to the onset.

Stern now was Éomer’s mood, and his mind clear again. He let
blow the horns to rally all men to his banner that could come thither; for he
thought to make a great shield-wall at the last, and stand, and fight there on
foot till all fell, and do deeds of song on the fields of Pelennor, though no
man should be left in the West to remember the last King of the Mark. So he rode
to a green hillock and there set his banner, and the White Horse ran rippling in
the wind.

Out of doubt, out of dark to the day’s rising

I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.

To hope’s end I rode and to heart’s breaking:

Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!

These staves he spoke, yet he laughed as he said them. For once more lust of
battle was on him; and he was still unscathed, and he was young, and he was
king: the lord of a fell people. And lo! even as he laughed at despair he looked
out again on the black ships, and he lifted up his sword to defy them.

And then wonder took him, and a great joy; and he cast his sword up in the
sunlight and sang as he caught it. And all eyes followed his gaze, and behold!
upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she
turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for
Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of
Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in
the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the
crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold.

Thus came Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur’s heir, out of the
Paths of the Dead, borne upon a wind from the Sea to the kingdom of Gondor; and
the mirth of the Rohirrim was a torrent of laughter and a flashing of swords,
and the joy and wonder of the City was a music of trumpets and a ringing of
bells. But the hosts of Mordor were seized with bewilderment, and a great
wizardry it seemed to them that their own ships should be filled with their
foes; and a black dread fell on them, knowing that the tides of fate had turned
against them and their doom was at hand.

East rode the knights of Dol Amroth driving the enemy before them: troll-men
and Variags and orcs that hated the sunlight. South strode Éomer and men
fled before his face, and they were caught between the hammer and the
anvil. For now men leaped from the ships to the quays of the Harlond and swept
north like a storm. There came Legolas, and Gimli wielding his axe, and Halbarad
with the standard, and Elladan and Elrohir with stars on
their brow, and the dour-handed Dúnedain, Rangers of the North, leading a
great valour of the folk of Lebennin and Lamedon and the fiefs of the South. But
before all went Aragorn with the Flame of the West, Andúril like a new
fire kindled, Narsil re-forged as deadly as of old: and upon his brow was
the Star of Elendil.

And so at length Éomer and Aragorn met in the midst of the battle, and
they leaned on their swords and looked on one another and were glad.

‘Thus we meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us,’ said
Aragorn. ‘Did I not say so at the Hornburg?’

‘So you spoke,’ said Éomer, ‘but hope oft deceives, and I knew
not then that you were a man foresighted. Yet twice blessed is help unlooked
for, and never was a meeting of friends more joyful.’ And they clasped hand in
hand. ‘Nor indeed more timely,’ said Éomer. ‘You come none too
soon, my friend. Much loss and sorrow has befallen us.’

‘Then let us avenge it, ere we speak of it!’ said Aragorn, and they rode
back to battle together.

Hard fighting and long labour they had still; for the Southrons were bold men
and grim, and fierce in despair; and the Easterlings were strong and
war-hardened and asked for no quarter. And so in this place and that, by burned
homestead or barn, upon hillock or mound, under wall or on field, still they
gathered and rallied and fought until the day wore away.

Then the Sun went at last behind Mindolluin and filled all the sky with a
great burning, so that the hills and the mountains were dyed as with blood; fire
glowed in the River, and the grass of the Pelennor lay red in the nightfall. And
in that hour the great Battle of the field of Gondor was over; and not one
living foe was left within the circuit of the Rammas. All were slain save those
who fled to die, or to drown in the red foam of the River. Few ever came
eastward to Morgul or Mordor; and to the land of the Haradrim came only a tale
from far off: a rumour of the wrath and terror of Gondor.

Aragorn and Éomer and Imrahil rode back towards the Gate of the City,
and they were now weary beyond joy or sorrow. These three were unscathed, for
such was their fortune and the skill and might of their arms, and few indeed had
dared to abide them or look on their faces in the hour of their wrath. But many
others were hurt or maimed or dead upon the field. The axes hewed Forlong as he
fought alone and unhorsed; and both Duilin of Morthond and his brother were
trampled to death when they assailed the mûmakil,
leading their bowmen close to shoot at the eyes of the monsters. Neither Hirluin
the fair would return to Pinnath Gelin, nor Grimbold to Grimslade, nor Halbarad
to the Northlands, dour-handed Ranger. No few had fallen, renowned or nameless,
captain or soldier; for it was a great battle and the full count of it no tale
has told. So long afterward a maker in Rohan said in his song of the Mounds of
Mundburg:

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf

Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day’s ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

Chapter 7

The Pyre of Denethor

When the dark shadow at the Gate withdrew Gandalf still sat motionless. But
Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he
stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his
heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the
distance without tears starting in his eyes. But now suddenly his errand
returned to his memory, and he ran forward. At that moment Gandalf stirred and
spoke to Shadowfax, and was about to ride through the Gate.

‘Gandalf, Gandalf! ‘ cried Pippin, and Shadowfax halted.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Gandalf. ‘Is it not a law in the City
that those who wear the black and silver must stay in the Citadel, unless their
lord gives them leave?’

‘He has,’ said Pippin. ‘He sent me away. But I am frightened. Something
terrible may happen up there. The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid
he will kill himself, and kill Faramir too. Can’t you do something?’

Gandalf looked through the gaping Gate, and already on the fields he heard
the gathering sound of battle. He clenched his hand. ‘I must go ‘ he said.
‘The Black Rider is abroad, and he will yet bring ruin on us. I have no
time.’

‘But Faramir!’ cried Pippin. ‘He is not dead, and they will burn him
alive, if someone does not stop them.’

‘Burn him alive?’ said Gandalf. ‘What is this tale? Be quick!’

‘Denethor has gone to the Tombs,’ said Pippin, ‘and he has taken
Faramir, and he says we are all to burn, and he will not wait, and they are to
make a pyre and burn him on it, and Faramir as well. And he has sent men to
fetch wood and oil. And I have told Beregond, but I’m afraid he won’t dare
to leave his post: he is on guard. And what can he do anyway?’ So Pippin
poured out his tale, reaching up and touching Gandalf’s knee with trembling
hands. ‘Can’t you save Faramir?’

‘Maybe I can,’ said Gandalf; ‘but if I do, then others will die, I
fear. Well, I must come, since no other help can reach him. But evil and sorrow
will come of this. Even in the heart of our stronghold the Enemy has power to
strike us: for his will it is that is at work.’

Then having made up his mind he acted swiftly; and catching up Pippin and
setting him before him, he turned Shadowfax with a word. Up the climbing streets
of Minas Tirith they clattered, while the noise of war rose behind them.
Everywhere men were rising from their despair and dread, seizing their weapons,
crying one to another: ‘Rohan has come!’ Captains were shouting, companies
were mustering; many already were marching down to the Gate.

They met the Prince Imrahil, and he called to them: ‘Whither now,
Mithrandir? The Rohirrim are fighting on the fields of Gondor! We must gather
all the strength that we can find.’

‘You will need every man and more,’ said Gandalf. ‘Make all haste. I
will come when I can. But I have an errand to the Lord Denethor that will not
wait. Take command in the Lord’s absence!’

They passed on; and as they climbed and drew near to the Citadel they felt
the wind blowing in their faces, and they caught the glimmer of morning far
away, a light growing in the southern sky. But it brought little hope to them,
not knowing what evil lay before them, fearing to come too late.

‘Darkness is passing,’ said Gandalf, ‘but it still lies heavy on this
City.’

At the gate of the Citadel they found no guard. ‘Then Beregond has gone,’
said Pippin more hopefully. They turned away and hastened along the road to the
Closed Door. It stood wide open, and the porter lay before it. He was slain and
his key had been taken.

‘Work of the Enemy!’ said Gandalf. ‘Such deeds he loves: friend at war
with friend; loyalty divided in confusion of hearts.’ Now he dismounted and
bade Shadowfax return to his stable. ‘For, my friend,’ he said, ‘you and I
should have ridden to the fields long ago, but other matters delay me. Yet come
swiftly if I call!’

They passed the Door and walked on down the steep winding road. Light was
growing, and the tall columns and carven figures beside the way went slowly by
like grey ghosts.

Suddenly the silence was broken, and they heard below them cries and the
ringing of swords: such sounds as had not been
heard in the hallowed places since the building of the City. At last they came
to Rath Dínen and hastened towards the House of the Stewards, looming in
the twilight under its great dome.

‘Stay! Stay!’ cried Gandalf, springing forward to the stone stair before
the door. ‘Stay this madness!’

For there were the servants of Denethor with swords and torches in their
hands; but alone in the porch upon the topmost step stood Beregond, clad in the
black and silver of the Guard; and he held the door against them. Two of them
had already fallen to his sword, staining the hallows with their blood; and the
others cursed him, calling him outlaw and traitor to his master.

Even as Gandalf and Pippin ran forward, they heard from within the house of
the dead the voice of Denethor crying: ‘Haste, haste! Do as I have bidden!
Slay me this renegade! Or must I do so myself?’ Thereupon the door which
Beregond held shut with his left hand was wrenched open, and there behind him
stood the Lord of the City, tall and fell; a light like flame was in his eyes,
and he held a drawn sword.

But Gandalf sprang up the steps, and the men fell back from him and covered
their eyes; for his coming was like the incoming of a white light into a dark
place, and he came with great anger. He lifted up his hand, and in the very
stroke, the sword of Denethor flew up and left his grasp and fell behind him in
the shadows of the house; and Denethor stepped backward before Gandalf as one
amazed.

‘What is this, my lord?’ said the wizard.
‘The houses of the dead are no places for the living. And why do men fight
here in the Hallows when there is war enough before the Gate? Or has our Enemy
come even to Rath Dínen?’

‘Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee?’ said
Denethor. ‘Or may I not command my own servants?’

‘You may,’ said Gandalf. ‘But others may contest your will, when it is
turned to madness and evil. Where is your son, Faramir?’

‘He lies within,’ said Denethor, ‘burning, already burning. They have
set a fire in his flesh. But soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It
shall all go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended. Ash! Ash and smoke
blown away on the wind!’

Then Gandalf seeing the madness that was on him feared that he had already
done some evil deed, and he thrust forward, with Beregond and Pippin behind him,
while Denethor gave back until he stood beside the table within. But there they
found Faramir, still dreaming in his fever, lying upon the table. Wood was piled
under it, and high all about it, and all was drenched with oil, even the
garments of Faramir and the coverlets; but as yet no fire had been set to the
fuel. Then Gandalf revealed the strength that lay hid in him; even as the light
of his power was hidden under his grey mantle. He leaped up on to the faggots,
and raising the sick man lightly he sprang down again, and bore him towards the
door. But as he did so Faramir moaned and called on his father in his dream.

Denethor started as one waking from a trance, and the flame died in his eyes,
and he wept; and he said: ‘Do not take my son from me! He calls for me.’

‘He calls,’ said Gandalf, ‘but you cannot come to him yet. For he must
seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not. Whereas your part
is to go out to the battle of your City, where maybe death awaits you. This you
know in your heart.’

‘He will not wake again,’ said Denethor. ‘Battle is vain. Why should we
wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side by side?’

‘Authority is not given to you, Steward of Gondor, to order the hour of
your death,’ answered Gandalf. ‘And only the heathen kings, under the
domination of the Dark Power, did thus, slaying themselves in pride and despair,
murdering their kin to ease their own death.’ Then passing through the door he
took Faramir from the deadly house and laid him on the bier on which he had been
brought, and which had now been set in the porch. Denethor followed him, and
stood trembling, looking with longing on the face of his son. And for a moment,
while all were silent and still, watching the Lord in his throes, he wavered.

‘Come!’ said Gandalf. ‘We are needed. There is much that you can yet
do.’

Then suddenly Denethor laughed. He stood up tall and proud again, and
stepping swiftly back to the table he lifted from it the pillow on which his
head had lain. Then coming to the doorway he drew aside the covering, and lo! he
had between his hands a palantír.
And as he held it up, it seemed to those that looked on that the globe began to
glow with an inner flame, so that the lean face of the Lord was lit as with a
red fire, and it seemed cut out of hard stone, sharp with black shadows, noble,
proud, and terrible. His eyes glittered.

‘Pride and despair!’ he cried. ‘Didst thou think that the eyes of the
White Tower were blind? Nay, I have seen more than thou knowest, Grey Fool. For
thy hope is but ignorance. Go then and labour in healing! Go forth and fight!
Vanity. For a little space you may triumph on the field, for a day. But against
the Power that now arises there is no victory. To this City only the first
finger of its hand has yet been stretched. All the East is moving. And even now
the wind of thy hope cheats thee and wafts up Anduin a fleet with black sails.
The West has failed. It is time for all to depart who would not be slaves.’

‘Such counsels will make the Enemy’s victory certain indeed,’ said
Gandalf.

‘Hope on then!’ laughed Denethor. ‘Do I not know thee, Mithrandir? Thy
hope is to rule in my stead, to stand behind every throne, north, south, or
west. I have read thy mind and its policies. Do I not know that you commanded
this halfling here to keep silence? That you brought him hither to be a spy
within my very chamber? And yet in our speech together I have learned the names
and purpose of all thy companions. So! With the left hand thou wouldst use me
for a little while as a shield against Mordor, and with the right bring up this
Ranger of the North to supplant me.

‘But I say to thee, Gandalf Mithrandir, I will not be thy tool! I am
Steward of the House of Anárion. I will not step down to be the
dotard chamberlain of an upstart. Even were his claim proved to me, still he
comes but of the line of Isildur. I will not bow to such a one, last of a ragged
house long bereft of lordship and dignity.’

‘What then would you have,’ said Gandalf, ‘if your will could have its
way?’

‘I would have things as they were in all the days of my life,’ answered
Denethor, ‘and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of this
City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master
and no wizard’s pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught:
neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated.’

‘To me it would not seem that a Steward who faithfully surrenders his
charge is diminished in love or in honour,’ said Gandalf. ‘And at the least
you shall not rob your son of his choice while his death is still in doubt.’

At those words Denethor’s eyes flamed again, and taking the Stone under his
arm he drew a knife and strode towards the bier. But Beregond sprang forward and
set himself before Faramir.

‘So!’ cried Denethor. ‘Thou hadst already stolen half my son’s love.
Now thou stealest the hearts of my knights also, so that they rob me wholly of
my son at the last. But in this at least thou shalt not defy my will: to rule my
own end.’

‘Come hither!’ he cried to his servants. ‘Come, if you are not all
recreant!’ Then two of them ran up the steps to him. Swiftly he snatched a
torch from the hand of one and sprang back into the house. Before Gandalf could
hinder him he thrust the brand amid the fuel, and at once it crackled and roared
into flame.

Then Denethor leaped upon the table, and standing there wreathed in fire and
smoke he took up the staff of his stewardship that lay at his feet and broke it
on his knee. Casting the pieces into the blaze he bowed and laid himself on the
table, clasping the palantír
with both hands upon his breast. And it was said that ever after, if any man
looked in that Stone, unless he had a great strength of will to turn it to other
purpose, he saw only two aged hands withering in flame.

Gandalf in grief and horror turned his face away and closed the door. For a
while he stood in thought, silent upon the threshold, while those outside heard
the greedy roaring of the fire within. And then Denethor gave a great cry, and
afterwards spoke no more, nor was ever again seen by mortal men.

‘So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion,’ said Gandalf: Then he turned to
Beregond and the Lord’s servants that stood there aghast. ‘And so pass also
the days of Gondor that you have known; for good or evil they are ended. Ill
deeds have been done here; but let now all enmity that lies between you be put
away, for it was contrived by the Enemy and works his will. You have been caught
in a net of warring duties that you did not weave. But think, you servants of
the Lord, blind in your obedience, that but for the treason of Beregond Faramir,
Captain of the White Tower, would now also be burned.

‘Bear away from this unhappy place your comrades who have fallen. And we
will bear Faramir, Steward of Gondor, to a place where he can sleep in peace, or
die if that be his doom.’

Then Gandalf and Beregond taking up the bier bore it away towards the Houses
of Healing, while behind them walked Pippin with downcast
head. But the servants of the Lord stood gazing as stricken men at the house of
the dead; and even as Gandalf came to the end of Rath Dínen there was a
great noise. Looking back they saw the dome of the house crack and smokes issue
forth; and then with a rush and rumble of stone it fell in a flurry of
fire; but still unabated the flames danced and flickered among the ruins. Then
in terror the servants fled and followed Gandalf.

At length they came back to the Steward’s Door, and Beregond looked with
grief at the porter. ‘This deed I shall ever rue,’ he said; ‘but a madness
of haste was on me, and he would not listen, but drew sword against me.’ Then
taking the key that he had wrested from the slain man he closed the door and
locked it. ‘This should now be given to the Lord Faramir,’ he said.

‘The Prince of Dol Amroth is in command in the absence of the Lord,’ said
Gandalf; ‘but since he is not here, I must take this on myself. I bid you keep
the key and guard it, until the City is set in order again.’

Now at last they passed into the high circles of the City, and in the light
of morning they went their way towards the Houses of Healing; and these were
fair houses set apart, for the care of those who were grievously sick, but now
they were prepared for the tending of men hurt in battle or dying. They stood
not far from the Citadel-gate, in the sixth circle, nigh to its southward wall,
and about them was a garden and a greensward with trees, the only such place in
the City. There dwelt the few women that had been permitted to remain in Minas
Tirith, since they were skilled in healing or in the service of the healers.

But even as Gandalf and his companions came carrying the bier to the main
door of the Houses, they heard a great cry that went up from the field before
the Gate and rising shrill and piercing into the sky passed, and died away on
the wind. So terrible was the cry that for a moment all stood still, and yet
when it had passed, suddenly their hearts were lifted up in such a hope as they
had not known since the darkness came out of the East; and it seemed to them
that the light grew clear and the sun broke through the clouds.

But Gandalf’s face was grave and sad, and bidding Beregond and Pippin to
take Faramir into the Houses of Healing, he went up
on to the walls nearby; and there like a figure carven in white he stood in the
new sun and looked out. And he beheld with the sight that was given to him all
that had befallen; and when Éomer rode out from the forefront of his
battle and stood beside those who lay upon the field, he sighed, and he
cast his cloak about him again, and went from the walls. And Beregond and Pippin
found him standing in thought before the door of the Houses when they came out.

They looked at him, and for a while he was silent. At last he spoke. ‘My
friends,’ he said, ‘and all you people of this city and of the Western
lands! Things of great sorrow and renown have come to pass. Shall we weep or be
glad? Beyond hope the Captain of our foes has been destroyed, and you have heard
the echo of his last despair. But he has not gone without woe and bitter loss.
And that I might have averted but for the madness of Denethor. So long has the
reach of our Enemy become! Alas! but now I perceive how his will was able to
enter into the very heart of the City.

‘Though the Stewards deemed that it was a secret kept only by themselves,
long ago I guessed that here in the White Tower, one at least of the Seven
Seeing Stones was preserved. In the days of his wisdom Denethor did not presume
to use it, nor to challenge Sauron, knowing the limits of his own strength. But
his wisdom failed; and I fear that as the peril of his realm grew he looked in
the Stone and was deceived: far too often, I guess, since Boromir departed. He
was too great to be subdued to the will of the Dark Power, he saw nonetheless
only those things which that Power permitted him to see. The knowledge which he
obtained was, doubtless, often of service to him; yet the vision of the great
might of Mordor that was shown to him fed the despair of his heart until it
overthrew his mind.’

‘Now I understand what seemed so strange to me!’ said Pippin shuddering
at his memories as he spoke. ‘The Lord went away from the room where Faramir
lay; and it was only when he returned that I first thought he was changed, old
and broken.’

‘It was in the very hour that Faramir was brought to the Tower that many of
us saw a strange light in the topmost chamber,’ said Beregond. ‘But we have
seen that light before, and it has long been rumoured in the City, that the Lord
would at times wrestle in thought with his Enemy.’

‘Alas! then I have guessed rightly,’ said Gandalf. ‘Thus the will of
Sauron entered into Minas Tirith; and thus I have been delayed here. And here I
shall still be forced to remain, for I shall soon have other charges, not
Faramir only.

‘Now I must go down to meet those who come. I have seen a sight upon the
field that is very grievous to my heart, and greater sorrow may yet come to
pass. Come with me, Pippin! But you, Beregond, should return to the Citadel and
tell the chief of the Guard there what has befallen. It will be his duty, I
fear, to withdraw you from the Guard; but say to him that, if I may give him
counsel, you should be sent to the Houses of Healing, to be the guard and
servant of your captain, and to be at his side when he awakes - if that shall
ever be again. For by you he was saved from the fire. Go now! I shall return
soon.’

With that he turned away and went with Pippin down towards the lower city.
And even as they hastened on their way the wind brought a grey rain, and all the
fires sank, and there arose a great smoke before them.

Chapter 8

The Houses of Healing

A mist was in Merry’s eyes of tears and weariness when they drew near the
ruined Gate of Minas Tirith. He gave little heed to the wreck and slaughter that
lay about all. Fire and smoke and stench was in the air; for many engines had
been burned or cast into the fire-pits, and many of the slain also, while here
and there lay many carcases of the great Southron monsters, half-burned, or
broken by stone-cast, or shot through the eyes by the valiant archers of
Morthond. The flying rain had ceased for a time, and the sun gleamed up above;
but all the lower city was still wrapped in a smouldering reek.

Already men were labouring to clear a way
through the jetsam of battle; and now out from the Gate came some bearing
litters. Gently they laid Éowyn upon soft pillows; but the king’s body
they covered with a great cloth of gold, and they bore torches about him, and
their flames, pale in the sunlight, were fluttered by the wind.

So Théoden and Éowyn came to the City of Gondor, and all who
saw them bared their heads and bowed; and they passed through the ash and fume
of the burned circle, and went on and up along the streets of stone. To
Merry the ascent seemed agelong, a meaningless journey in a hateful dream, going
on and on to some dim ending that memory cannot seize.

Slowly the lights of the torches in front of him flickered and went out, and
he was walking in a darkness; and he thought: ‘This is a tunnel leading to a
tomb; there we shall stay forever.’ But suddenly into his dream there fell a
living voice.

‘Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!’

He looked up and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was Pippin!
They were face to face in a narrow lane, and but for themselves it was empty. He
rubbed his eyes.

‘Where is the king?’ he said. ‘And Éowyn?’ Then he stumbled
and sat down on a doorstep and began to weep again.

‘They have gone up into the Citadel,’ said Pippin. ‘I think you must
have fallen asleep on your feet and taken the wrong turning. When we found that
you were not with them, Gandalf sent me to look for you. Poor old Merry! How
glad I am to see you again! But you are worn out, and I won’t bother you with
any talk. But tell me, are you hurt, or wounded?’

‘No,’ said Merry. ‘Well, no, I don’t think so. But I can’t use my
right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him. And my sword burned all away like a
piece of wood.’

Pippin’s face was anxious. ‘Well, you had better come with me as quick as
you can,’ he said. ‘I wish I could carry you. You aren’t fit to walk any
further. They shouldn’t have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them.
So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit
coming in from the battle is easily overlooked.’

‘It’s not always a misfortune being overlooked,’ said Merry. ‘I was
overlooked just now by - no, no, I can’t speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It’s
all going dark again, and my arm is so cold.’

‘No, indeed!’ said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was
wrung with fear and pity. ‘No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.’

They turned out of the lane that ran between tall houses and the outer wall
of the fourth circle, and they regained the main street climbing up to the
Citadel. Step by step they went, while Merry swayed and murmured as one in
sleep.

‘I’ll never get him there,’ thought Pippin. ‘Is there no one to help
me? I can’t leave him here.’ Just then to his surprise a boy came running up
behind, and as he passed he recognized Bergil Beregond’s son.

‘Hullo, Bergil!’ he called. ‘Where are you going? Glad to see you
again, and still alive!’

‘I am running errands for the Healers,’ said Bergil. ‘I cannot stay.’

‘Don’t!’ said Pippin. ‘But tell them up there that I have a sick
hobbit, a perian mind you, come from the battle-field. I don’t think he
can walk so far. If Mithrandir is there, he will be glad of the message.’
Bergil ran on.

‘I’d better wait here,’ thought Pippin. So he let Merry sink gently
down on to the pavement in a patch of sunlight, and then he sat down beside him,
laying Merry’s head in his lap. He felt his body and limbs gently, and took
his friend’s hands in his own. The right hand felt icy to the touch.

It was not long before Gandalf himself came in search of them. He stooped
over Merry and caressed his brow; then he lifted him carefully. ‘He should
have been borne in honour into this city,’ he said. ‘He has well repaid my
trust; for if Elrond had not yielded to me, neither of you would have set out;
and then far more grievous would the evils of this day have been.’ He sighed.
‘And yet here is another charge on my hands, while all the time the battle
hangs in the balance.’

So at last Faramir and Éowyn and Meriadoc were laid in beds in the
Houses of Healing; and there they were tended well. For though all lore was in
these latter days fallen from its fullness of old, the leechcraft of
Gondor was still wise, and skilled in the healing of wound and hurt, and all
such sickness as east of the Sea mortal men were subject to. Save old age only.
For that they had found no cure; and indeed the span of their lives had now
waned to little more than that of other men, and those among them who passed the
tale of five score years with vigour were grown few, save in some houses of
purer blood. But now their art and knowledge were baffled; for there were many
sick of a malady that would not be healed; and they
called it the Black Shadow, for it came from the Nazgûl. And those who
were stricken with it fell slowly into an ever deeper dream, and then passed to
silence and a deadly cold, and so died. And it seemed to the tenders of the sick
that on the Halfling and on the Lady of Rohan this malady lay heavily. Still at
whiles as the morning wore away they would speak, murmuring in their dreams; and
the watchers listened to all that they said, hoping perhaps to learn something
that would help them to understand their hurts. But soon they began to fall down
into the darkness, and as the sun turned west a grey shadow crept over their
faces. But Faramir burned with a fever that would not abate.

Gandalf went from one to the other full of care, and he was told all that the
watchers could hear. And so the day passed, while the great battle outside went
on with shifting hopes and strange tidings; and still Gandalf waited and watched
and did not go forth; till at last the red sunset filled all the sky, and the
light through the windows fell on the grey faces of the sick. Then it seemed to
those who stood by that in the glow the faces flushed softly as with health
returning, but it was only a mockery of hope.

Then an old wife, Ioreth, the eldest of the women who served in that house,
looking on the fair face of Faramir, wept, for all the people loved him. And she
said: ‘Alas! if he should die. Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there
were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: The hands of the
king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be
known.’

And Gandalf, who stood by, said: ‘Men may long remember your words, Ioreth!
For there is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have
you not heard the strange tidings that have come to the City?’

‘I have been too busy with this and that to heed all the crying and
shouting,’ she answered. ‘All I hope is that those murdering devils do not
come to this House and trouble the sick.’

Then Gandalf went out in haste, and already the fire in the sky was burning
out, and the smouldering hills were fading, while ash-grey evening crept over
the fields.

Now as the sun went down Aragorn and Éomer and Imrahil drew near the
City with their captains and knights; and when they came before the Gate
Aragorn said:

‘Behold the Sun setting in a great fire! It is a sign of the end and fall
of many things, and a change in the tides of the world. But this City and realm
has rested in the charge of the Stewards for many long years, and I fear that if
I enter it unbidden, then doubt and debate may arise, which should not be while
this war is fought. I will not enter in, nor make any claim, until it be seen
whether we or Mordor shall prevail. Men shall pitch my tents upon the field, and
here I will await the welcome of the Lord of the City.’

But Éomer said: ‘Already you have raised the banner of the Kings and
displayed the tokens of Elendil’s House. Will you suffer these to be
challenged?’

‘No,’ said Aragorn. ‘But I deem the time unripe; and I have no mind for
strife except with our Enemy and his servants.’

And the Prince Imrahil said. Your words, lord, are wise, if one who is a
kinsman of the Lord Denethor may counsel you in this matter. He is strong-willed
and proud, but old; and his mood has been strange since his son was stricken
down. Yet I would not have you remain like a beggar at the door.’

‘Not a beggar,’ said Aragorn. ‘Say a captain of the Rangers, who are
unused to cities and houses of stone.’ And he commanded that his banner should
be furled; and he did off the Star of the North Kingdom and gave it to the
keeping of the sons of Elrond.

Then the Prince Imrahil and Éomer of Rohan left him and passed through
the City and the tumult of the people, and mounted to the Citadel; and they came
to the Hall of the Tower, seeking the Steward. But they found his chair empty,
and before the dais lay Théoden King of the Mark upon a bed of state; and
twelve torches stood about it, and twelve guards, knights both of Rohan and
Gondor. And the hangings of the bed were of green and white, but upon the
king was laid the great cloth of gold up to his breast, and upon that his
unsheathed sword, and at his feet his shield, The light of the torches shimmered
in his white hair like sun in the spray of a fountain, but his face was fair and
young, save that a peace lay on it beyond the reach of youth; and it seemed that
he slept.

When they had stood silent for a time beside the king, Imrahil said: ‘Where
is the Steward? And where also is Mithrandir?’

And one of the guards answered: ‘The Steward of Gondor is in the Houses of
Healing.’

But Éomer said: ‘Where is the Lady Éowyn, my sister; for
surely she should be lying beside the king, and in no less honour? Where have
they bestowed her?’

And Imrahil said: ‘But the Lady Éowyn
was yet living when they bore her hither. Did you not know?’

Then hope unlooked-for came so suddenly to Éomer’s heart, and with
it the bite of care and fear renewed, that he said no more, but turned and went
swiftly from the hall; and the Prince followed him. And when they came
forth evening had fallen and many stars were in the sky. And there came Gandalf
on foot and with him one cloaked in grey; and they met before the doors of the
Houses of Healing. And they greeted Gandalf and said:
‘We seek the Steward, and men say that he is in this House. Has any hurt
befallen him? And the Lady Éowyn, where is she?’

And Gandalf answered: ‘She lies within and is not dead, but is near death.
But the Lord Faramir was wounded by an evil dart, as you have heard, and he is
now the Steward; for Denethor has departed, and his house is in ashes.’ And
they were filled with grief and wonder at the tale that he told.

But Imrahil said: ‘So victory is shorn of gladness, and it is bitter
bought, if both Gondor and Rohan are in one day
bereft of their lords. Éomer rules the Rohirrim. Who shall rule the City
meanwhile? Shall we not send now for the Lord Aragorn?’

And the cloaked man spoke and said: ‘He is come.’ And they saw as he
stepped into the light of the lantern by the door
that it was Aragorn, wrapped in the grey cloak of Lórien above his mail,
and bearing no other token than the green stone of Galadriel. ‘I have come
because Gandalf begs me to do so,’ he said. ‘But for the present I am but
the Captain of the Dúnedain of Arnor; and the Lord of Dol Amroth shall
rule the City until Faramir awakes. But it is my counsel that Gandalf should
rule us all in the days that follow and in our dealings with the Enemy.’ And
they agreed upon that.

Then Gandalf said: ‘Let us not stay at the door, for the time is urgent.
Let us enter! For it is only in the coming of Aragorn that any hope remains for
the sick that lie in the House. Thus spake Ioreth, wise-woman of Gondor: The
hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be
known.’

Then Aragorn entered first and the others followed. And there at the door
were two guards in the livery of the Citadel: one tall, but the other scarce the
height of a boy; and when he saw them he cried aloud in surprise and joy.

‘Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black
ships. But they were all shouting corsairs and wouldn’t listen to me.
How did you do it?’

Aragorn laughed, and took the hobbit by the hand. ‘Well met indeed!’ he
said. ‘But there is not time yet for travellers’ tales.’

But Imrahil said to Éomer: ‘Is it thus that we speak to our kings?
Yet maybe he will wear his crown in some other name!’

And Aragorn hearing him, turned and said: ‘Verily, for in the high tongue
of old I am Elessar, the Elfstone, and Envinyatar, the
Renewer’: and he lifted from his breast the green stone that lay there. ‘But
Strider shall be the name of my house, if that be ever established. In the high
tongue it will not sound so ill, and Telcontar I will be and all the
heirs of my body.’

And with that they passed into the House; and as they went towards the rooms
where the sick were tended Gandalf told of the deeds of Éowyn and
Meriadoc. ‘For,’ he said, ‘long have I stood by them and at first they
spoke much in their dreaming, before they sank into the deadly darkness.
Also it is given to me to see many things far off.’

Aragorn went first to Faramir, and then to the Lady Éowyn, and last to
Merry. When he had looked on the faces of the sick and seen their hurts he sighed.
‘Here I must put forth all such power and skill as is given to me,’ he said.
‘Would that Elrond were here, for he is the eldest of all our race, and has
the greater power.’

And Éomer seeing that he was sorrowful and weary said: ‘First you
must rest, surely, and at the least eat a little?’

But Aragorn answered: ‘Nay, for these three, and most soon for Faramir,
time is running out. All speed is needed.’

Then he called to Ioreth and he said: ‘You have store in this House of the
herbs of healing?’

‘Yes, lord,’ she answered; ‘but not enough, I reckon, for all that will
need them. But I am sure I do not know where we shall find more; for all things
are amiss in these dreadful days, what with fires and burnings, and the lads
that run errands so few, and all the roads blocked. Why, it is days out of count
since ever a carrier came in from Lossarnach to the market! But we do our best
in this House with what we have, as I am sure your lordship will know.’

‘I will judge that when I see,’ said Aragorn. ‘One thing also is short
time for speech. Have you athelas?’

‘I do not know, I am sure, lord,’ she answered, ‘at least not by that
name. I will go and ask of the herb-master; he knows all the old names.’

‘It is also called kingsfoil,’ said Aragorn; ‘and maybe you know
it by that name, for so the country-folk call it in these latter days.’ ‘Oh
that!’ said Ioreth. ‘Well, if your lordship had named it at first I could
have told you. No, we have none of it, I am sure. Why, I have never heard that
it had any great virtue; and indeed I have often said to my sisters when we came
upon it growing in the woods: “kingsfoil” I said, “ ‘tis a strange name,
and I wonder why ‘tis called so; for if I were a king, I would have plants
more bright in my garden”. Still it smells sweet when bruised, does it not? If
sweet is the right word: wholesome, maybe, is nearer.’

‘Wholesome verily,’ said Aragorn. ‘And now, dame, if you love the Lord
Faramir, run as quick as your tongue and get me kingsfoil, if there is a leaf in
the City.’

‘And if not,’ said Gandalf, ‘I will ride to Lossarnach with Ioreth
behind me, and she shall take me to the woods, but not to her sisters. And
Shadowfax shall show her the meaning of haste.’

When Ioreth was gone, Aragorn bade the other women to make water hot. Then he
took Faramir's hand in his, and laid the other hand upon the sick man’s brow.
It was drenched with sweat; but Faramir did not move or make any sign, and
seemed hardly to breathe.

‘He is nearly spent,’ said Aragorn turning to Gandalf. ‘But this comes
not from the wound. See! that is healing. Had he
been smitten by some dart of the Nazgûl, as you thought, he would have
died that night. This hurt was given by some Southron arrow, I would guess. Who
drew it forth? Was it kept?’

‘I drew it forth,’ said Imrahil, ‘and staunched the wound. But I did
not keep the arrow, for we had much to do. It was, as I remember, just such a
dart as the Southrons use. Yet I believed that it came from the Shadows above,
for else his fever and sickness were not to be understood; since the wound was
not deep or vital. How then do you read the matter?’

‘Weariness, grief for his father’s mood, a wound, and over all the Black
Breath,’ said Aragorn. ‘He is a man of staunch will, for already he had come
close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle on the out-walls. Slowly
the dark must have crept on him, even as he fought and strove to hold his
outpost. Would that I could have been here sooner!’

Thereupon the herb-master entered. ‘Your lordship asked for kingsfoil, as
the rustics name it, he said; or athelas in the noble tongue, or to those
who know somewhat of the Valinorean. . .’

‘I do so,’ said Aragorn, ‘and I care not whether you say now asëa
aranion or kingsfoil, so long as you have some.’

‘Your pardon lord!’ said the man. ‘I see you are a lore-master, not
merely a captain of war. But alas! sir, we do not keep this thing in the Houses
of Healing, where only the gravely hurt or sick are tended. For it has no virtue
that we know of, save perhaps to sweeten a fouled air, or to drive away some
passing heaviness. Unless, of course, you give heed to rhymes of old days which
women such as our good Ioreth still repeat without understanding.

When the black breath blows

and death’s shadow grows

and all lights pass,

come athelas! come athelas!

Life to the dying

In the king’s hand lying!

It is but a doggrel, I fear, garbled in the memory of old wives. Its meaning
I leave to your judgement, if indeed it has any. But old folk still use an
infusion of the herb for headaches.’

‘Then in the name of the king, go and find some old man of less lore and
more wisdom who keeps some in his house!’ cried Gandalf.

Now Aragorn knelt beside Faramir, and held a hand upon his brow. And those
that watched felt that some great struggle was going on. For Aragorn’s face
grew grey with weariness; and ever and anon he called the name of Faramir, but
each time more faintly to their hearing, as if Aragorn himself was removed from
them, and walked afar in some dark vale, calling for one that was lost.

And at last Bergil came running in, and he bore six leaves in a cloth. ‘It
is kingsfoil, Sir,’ he said; ‘but not fresh, I fear. It must have been
culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, Sir?’ Then looking at
Faramir he burst into tears.

But Aragorn smiled. ‘It will serve,’ he said. ‘The worst is now over.
Stay and be comforted!’ Then taking two leaves, he laid them on his hands and
breathed on them, and then he crushed them, and straightway a living freshness
filled the room, as if the air itself awoke and tingled, sparkling with joy. And
then he cast the leaves into the bowls of steaming water that were brought to
him, and at once all hearts were lightened. For the fragrance that came to each
was like a memory of dewy mornings of unshadowed sun in some land of which the
fair world in Spring is itself but a fleeting memory. But Aragorn stood up as
one refreshed, and his eyes smiled as he held a bowl before Faramir’s dreaming
face.

‘Well now! Who would have believed it?’ said Ioreth to a woman that stood
beside her. ‘The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of
Imloth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better.’

Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn
who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes,
and he spoke softly. ‘My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king
command?’

‘Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!’ said Aragorn. ‘You are weary.
Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return.’

‘I will, lord,’ said Faramir. ‘For who would lie idle when the king has
returned?’

‘Farewell then for a while!’ said Aragorn. ‘I must go to others who
need me.’ And he left the chamber with Gandalf and Imrahil; but Beregond and
his son remained behind, unable to contain their joy. As he followed Gandalf and
shut the door Pippin heard Ioreth exclaim:

‘King! Did you hear that? What did I say? The hands of a healer, I said.’
And soon the word had gone out from the House that the king was indeed come
among them, and after war he brought healing; and the news ran through the City.

But Aragorn came to Éowyn, and he said: ‘Here there is a grievous
hurt and a heavy blow. The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill,
and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live: It is the
shield-arm that is maimed; but the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In
that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken.

‘Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or
body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than
steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them. It was an evil doom that set
her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens.
And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and
perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing
straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if
wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned
its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken,
soon to fall and die? Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not,
Éomer?’

‘I marvel that you should ask me, lord,’ he answered. ‘For I hold you
blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I
knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first
looked on you. Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of
Wormtongue and the king’s bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear.
But that did not bring her to this pass!’

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the
free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at
least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she
loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her
part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard!
What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek,
and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those
words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not
doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My
lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had
not restrained her lips; you might have heard even such things as these escape
them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches
of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower
closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’

Then Éomer was silent, and looked on his sister, as if pondering anew
all the days of their past life together. But Aragorn said: ‘I saw also what
you saw, Éomer. Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have
more bitterness and shame for a man’s heart than to behold the love of a lady
so fair and brave that cannot be returned Sorrow and pity have followed me ever
since I left her desperate in Dunharrow and rode to the Paths of the Dead; and
no fear upon that way was so present as the fear for what might befall her. And
yet, Éomer, I say to you that she loves you more truly than me; for you
she loves and knows; but in me she loves only a shadow and a thought: a hope of
glory and great deeds, and lands far from the fields of Rohan.

‘I have, maybe, the power to heal her body, and to recall her from the dark
valley. But to what she will awake: hope, or forgetfulness, or despair, I do not
know. And if to despair, then she will die, unless other healing comes which I
cannot bring. Alas! for her deeds have set her among the queens of great
renown.’

Then Aragorn stooped and looked in her face, and it was indeed white as a
lily, cold as frost, and hard as graven stone. But he bent and kissed her on the
brow, and called her softly, saying:

‘Éowyn Éomund’s daughter, awake! For your enemy has passed
away!’

She did not stir, but now she began again to breathe deeply, so that her
breast rose and fell beneath the white linen of the sheet. Once more Aragorn
bruised two leaves of athelas and cast them into steaming water; and he
laved her brow with it, and her right arm lying cold and nerveless on the
coverlet.

Then, whether Aragorn had indeed some forgotten power of Westernesse, or
whether it was but his words of the Lady Éowyn that wrought on them, as
the sweet influence of the herb stole about the chamber it seemed to those who
stood by that a keen wind blew through the window, and it bore no scent,
but was an air wholly fresh and clean and young, as if it had not before been
breathed by any living thing and came new-made from snowy mountains high beneath
a dome of stars, or from shores of silver far away washed by seas of foam.

‘Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan!’ said Aragorn again, and he took her
right hand in his and felt it warm with life returning. ‘Awake! The shadow is
gone and all darkness is washed clean!’ Then he laid her hand in Éomer’s
and stepped away. ‘Call her!’ he said, and he passed silently from
the chamber.

‘Éowyn, Éowyn!’ cried Éomer amid his tears. But she
opened her eyes and said: ‘Éomer! What joy is this? For they said that
you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How
long have I been dreaming?’

‘Not long, my sister,’ said Éomer. ‘But think no more on it!’

‘ I am strangely weary,’ she said. ‘I must rest a little. But tell me,
what of the Lord of the Mark? Alas! Do not tell me that that was a dream for I
know that it was not. He is dead as he foresaw.’

‘He is dead,’ said Éomer, ‘but he bade me say farewell to
Éowyn dearer than daughter. He lies now in great honour in the Citadel of
Gondor.’

‘That is grievous,’ she said. ‘And yet it is good beyond all that I
dared hope in the dark days, when it seemed that
the House of Eorl was sunk in honour less than any shepherd’s cot. And what of
the king’s esquire, the Halfling? Éomer, you shall make him a knight of
the Riddermark, for he is valiant!’

‘He lies nearby in this House, and I will go
to him,’ said Gandalf. ‘Éomer shall stay here for a while. But do not
speak yet of war or woe, until you are made whole again. Great gladness it is to
see you wake again to health and hope, so valiant a lady!’

‘To health?’ said Éowyn. ‘It may be so. At least while
there is an empty saddle of some fallen Rider that I can fill, and there are
deeds to do. But to hope? I do not know.’

Gandalf and Pippin came to Merry’s room, and there they found Aragorn
standing by the bed. ‘Poor old Merry!’ cried Pippin, and he ran to the
bedside, for it seemed to him that his friend looked worse, and a greyness was
in his face, as if a weight of years of sorrow lay on him; and suddenly a fear
seized Pippin that Merry would die.

‘Do not be afraid,’ said Aragorn. ‘I came
in time, and I have called him back. He is weary now, and grieved, and he has
taken a hurt like the Lady Éowyn, daring to smite that deadly thing. But
these evils can be amended, so strong and gay a spirit is in him. His grief he
will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him
wisdom.’

Then Aragorn laid his hand on Merry’s head, and passing his hand gently
through the brown curls, he touched the eyelids, and called him by name. And
when the fragrance of athelas stole through the room, like the scent of
orchards, and of heather in the sunshine full of bees, suddenly Merry awoke, and
he said:

‘I am hungry. What is the time?’

‘Past supper-time now,’ said Pippin; ‘though I daresay I could bring
you something, if they will let me.’

‘They will indeed,’ said Gandalf. ‘And anything else that this Rider of
Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith, where his name is in
honour.’

‘Good!’ said Merry. ‘Then I would like supper first, and after that a
pipe.’ At that his face clouded. ‘No, not a pipe. I don’t think I’ll
smoke again.’

‘Why not?’ said Pippin.

‘Well,’ answered Merry slowly. ‘He is dead. It has brought it all back
to me. He said he was sorry he had never had a chance of talking herb-lore with
me. Almost the last thing he ever said. I shan’t ever be able to smoke again
without thinking of him, and that day, Pippin, when he rode up to Isengard and
was so polite.’

‘Smoke then, and think of him!’ said Aragorn. ‘For he was a gentle
heart and a great king and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a
last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a memory
glad and honourable to the end of your days.’

Merry smiled. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘if Strider will provide what is
needed, I will smoke and think. I had some of Saruman’s best in my pack, but
what became of it in the battle, I am sure I don’t know.’

‘Master Meriadoc,’ said Aragorn, ‘if you think that I have passed
through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs
to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack
has not been found, then you must send for the herb-master of this House. And he
will tell you that he did not know that the herb you desire had any virtues, but
that it is called westmansweed by the vulgar, and galenas by the
noble, and other names in other tongues more learned, and after adding a few
half-forgotten rhymes that he does not understand, he will regretfully inform
you that there is none in the House, and he will leave you to reflect on the
history of tongues. And so now must I. For I have not slept in such a bed as
this, since I rode from Dunharrow, nor eaten since the dark before dawn.’

Merry seized his hand and kissed it. ‘I am frightfully sorry,’ he said.
‘Go at once! Ever since that night at Bree we have been a nuisance to you. But
it is the way of my people to use light words at such times and say less than
they mean. We fear to say too much. It robs us of the right words when a jest is
out of place.’

‘I know that well, or I would not deal with you in the same way ‘ said
Aragorn. ‘May the Shire live for ever unwithered!’ And kissing Merry he went
out, and Gandalf went with him.

Pippin remained behind. ‘Was there ever any one like him?’ he said.
‘Except Gandalf, of course. I think they must be related. My dear ass, your
pack is lying by your bed, and you had it on your back when I met you. He saw it
all the time, of course. And anyway I have some stuff of my own. Come on now!
Longbottom Leaf it is. Fill up while I run and see about some food. And then
let’s be easy for a bit. Dear me! We Tooks and Brandybucks, we can’t live
long on the heights.’

‘No,’ said Merry. ‘I can’t. Not yet, at any rate. But at least,
Pippin, we can now see them, and honour them. It is best to love first what you
are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots, and
the soil of the Shire is deep. Still there are things deeper and higher; and not
a gaffer could tend his garden in what he calls peace but for them, whether he
knows about them or not. I am glad that I know about them, a little. But I
don’t know why I am talking like this. Where is that leaf? And get my pipe out
of my pack, if it isn’t broken.’

Aragorn and Gandalf went now to the Warden of the Houses of Healing,
and they counselled him that Faramir and Éowyn should remain there and
still be tended with care for many days.

‘The Lady Éowyn,’ said Aragorn, ‘will wish soon to rise and
depart; but she should not be permitted to do so, if you can in any way restrain
her, until at least ten days be passed.’

‘As for Faramir,’ said Gandalf, ‘he must soon learn that his father is
dead. But the full tale of the madness of Denethor should not be told to him,
until he is quite healed and has duties to do. See that Beregond and the perian
who were present do not speak to him of these things yet!’

And the other perian Meriadoc who is under my care, what of him?’
said the Warden.

‘It is likely that he will be fit to arise tomorrow, for a short while,’
said Aragorn. ‘Let him do so, if he wishes. He may walk a little in the care
of his friends.’

‘They are a remarkable race,’ said the Warden, nodding his head. ‘Very
tough in the fibre, I deem.’

At the doors of the Houses many were already gathered to see Aragorn, and
they followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed
that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril
through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow. And Aragorn arose and
went out, and he sent for the sons of Elrond, and together they laboured far
into the night. And word went through the City: ‘The King is come again
indeed.’ And they named him Elfstone, because of the green stone that he wore,
and so the name which it was foretold at his birth that he should bear was
chosen for him by his own people.

And when he could labour no more, he cast his cloak about him, and slipped
out of the City, and went to his tent just ere dawn and slept for a little. And
in the morning the banner of Dol Amroth, a white ship like a swan upon blue
water, floated from the Tower, and men looked up and wondered if the coming of
the King had been but a dream.

Chapter 9

The Last Debate

The morning came after the day of battle, and it was fair with light clouds
and the wind turning westward. Legolas and Gimli were early abroad, and they
begged leave to go up into the City; for they were eager to see Merry and
Pippin.

‘It is good to learn that they are still alive,’ said Gimli; ‘for they
cost us great pains in our march over Rohan, and I would not have such pains all
wasted.’

Together the Elf and the Dwarf entered Minas Tirith, and folk that saw them
pass marvelled to see such companions; for Legolas was fair of face beyond the
measure of Men, and he sang an elven-song in a clear voice as he walked in the
morning; but Gimli stalked beside him, stroking his beard and staring about him.

‘There is some good stone-work here,’ he said as he looked at the walls;
‘but also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived.
When Aragorn comes into his own, I shall offer him the service of stonewrights
of the Mountain, and we will make this a town to be proud of.’

‘They need more gardens,’ said Legolas. ‘The houses are dead, and there
is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the
people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die.’

At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and
bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins.
‘Hail, lord!’ he said. ‘It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the
woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from
Amroth’s haven west over water.’

‘So it is said in the lore of my land,’ said the Prince; ‘yet never has
one of the fair folk been seen there for years beyond count. And I marvel to see
one here now in the midst of sorrow and war. What do you seek?’

‘I am one of the Nine Companions who set out with Mithrandir from Imladris,
said Legolas and with this Dwarf, my friend, I came with the Lord Aragorn. But
now we wish to see our friends. Meriadoc and Peregrin, who are in your keeping,
we are told.’

‘You will find them in the Houses of Healing, and I will lead you
thither,’ said Imrahil.

‘It will be enough if you send one to guide
us, lord,’ said Legolas. ‘For Aragorn sends this message to you. He does not
wish to enter the City again at this time. Yet there is need for the captains to
hold council at once, and he prays that you and Éomer of Rohan will come
down to his tents, as soon as may be. Mithrandir is already there.’

‘We will come,’ said Imrahil; and they parted with courteous words.

‘That is a fair lord and a great captain of men,’ said Legolas. ‘If
Gondor has such men still in these days of fading, great must have been its
glory in the days of its rising.’

‘And doubtless the good stone-work is the older and was wrought in the
first building,’ said Gimli. ‘It is ever so with the things that Men begin:
there is a frost in Spring, or a blight in Summer, and they fail of their
promise.’

‘Yet seldom do they fail of their seed,’ said Legolas. ‘And that will
lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The
deeds of Men will outlast us, Gimli.’

‘And yet come to naught in the end but might-have-beens, I guess,’ said
the Dwarf.

‘To that the Elves know not the answer,’ said Legolas.

With that the servant of the Prince came and led them to the Houses of
Healing; and there they found their friends in the garden, and their meeting was
a merry one. For a while they walked and talked, rejoicing for a brief space in
peace and rest under the morning high up in the windy circles of the City. Then
when Merry became weary, they went and sat upon the wall with the greensward of
the Houses of Healing behind them; and away southward before them was the Anduin
glittering in the sun, as it flowed away, out of the sight even of Legolas, into
the wide flats and green haze of Lebennin and South Ithilien.

And now Legolas fell silent, while the others talked, and he looked out
against the sun, and as he gazed he saw white sea-birds beating up the River.

‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Gulls! They are flying far inland. A wonder they are
to me and a trouble to my heart. Never in all my life had I met them, until we
came to Pelargir, and there I heard them crying in the air as we rode to the
battle of the ships. Then I stood still, forgetting war in Middle-earth; for
their wailing voices spoke to me of the Sea. The Sea! Alas! I have not yet
beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which
it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under
beech or under elm.’

‘Say not so!’ said Gimli. ‘There are countless things still to see in
Middle-earth, and great works to do. But if all the fair folk take to the
Havens, it will be a duller world for those who are doomed to stay.’

‘Dull and dreary indeed!’ said Merry: ‘You must not go to the Havens,
Legolas. There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few wise
dwarves like Gimli, who need you. At least I hope so. Though I feel somehow that
the worst of this war is still to come. How I wish it was all over, and well
over!’

‘Don’t be so gloomy!’ cried Pippin. ‘The Sun is shining, and here we
are together for a day or two at least. I want to hear more about you all. Come,
Gimli! You and Legolas have mentioned your strange journey with Strider about a
dozen times already this morning. But you haven’t told me anything about
it.’

‘The Sun may shine here,’ said Gimli, ‘but there are memories of that
road that I do not wish to recall out of the darkness. Had I known what was
before me, I think that not for any friendship would I have taken the Paths of
the Dead.’

‘The Paths of the Dead?’ said Pippin. ‘I heard Aragorn say that and I
wondered what he could mean. Won’t you tell us some more?’

‘Not willingly,’ said Gimli. ‘For upon that road I was put to shame:
Gimli Glóin’s son, who had deemed himself more tough than Men, and
hardier under earth than any Elf. But neither did I prove; and I was held
to the road only by the will of Aragorn.’

‘And by the love of him also,’ said Legolas. ‘For all those who come to
know him come to love him after his own fashion, even the cold maiden of the
Rohirrim. It was at early morn of the day ere you came
there, Merry, that we left Dunharrow, and such a fear was on all the folk that
none would look on our going, save the Lady Éowyn, who lies now hurt in
the House below. There was grief at that parting, and I was grieved to behold
it.’

‘Alas! I had heart only for myself,’ said Gimli. ‘Nay! I will not speak
of that journey.’

He fell silent; but Pippin and Merry were so eager for news that at last
Legolas said: ‘I will tell you enough for your peace; for I felt not the
horror, and I feared not the shadows of Men, powerless and frail as I deemed
them.’

Swiftly then he told of the haunted road under the mountains, and the dark
tryst at Erech, and the great ride thence, ninety leagues and three, to Pelargir
on Anduin. ‘Four days and nights, and on into a fifth, we rode from the Black
Stone,’ he said. ‘And lo! in the darkness of Mordor my hope rose; for in
that gloom the Shadow Host seemed to grow stronger and more terrible to look
upon. Some I saw riding, some striding, yet all moving with the same great
speed. Silent they were, but there was a gleam in their eyes. In the uplands of
Lamedon they overtook our horses, and swept round us, and would have passed us
by, if Aragorn had not forbidden them.

‘At his command they fell back. “Even the shades of Men are obedient to
his will,” I thought. “They may serve his needs yet! “

‘One day of light we rode, and then came the day without dawn, and still we
rode on, and Ciril and Ringló we crossed; and on the third day we came to
Linhir above the mouth of Gilrain. And there men of Lamedon contested the
fords with fell folk of Umbar and Harad who had sailed up the river. But
defenders and foes alike gave up the battle and fled when we came, crying out
that the King of the Dead was upon them. Only Angbor, Lord of Lamedon, had the
heart to abide us; and Aragorn bade him gather his folk and come behind, if they
dared, when the Grey Host had passed.

‘ “At Pelargir the Heir of Isildur will have need of you,” he said.

‘Thus we crossed over Gilrain, driving the allies of Mordor in rout before
us; and then we rested a while. But soon Aragorn arose, saying: “Lo! already
Minas Tirith is assailed. I fear that it will fall ere we come to its aid.” So
we mounted again before night had passed and went on with all the speed that our
horses could endure over the plains of Lebennin.’

Legolas paused and sighed, and turning his eyes southward softly he sang:

Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui

In the green fields of Lebennin!

Tall grows the grass there. In the wind from the Sea

The white lilies sway,

And the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin

In the green fields of Lebennin,

In the wind from the Sea!

‘Green are those fields in the songs of my people; but they were dark then,
grey wastes in the blackness before us. And over the wide land, trampling
unheeded the grass and the flowers, we hunted our foes through a day and a
night, until we came at the bitter end to the Great River at last.

‘Then I thought in my heart that we drew near to the Sea; for wide was the
water in the darkness, and sea-birds innumerable cried on its, shores. Alas for
the wailing of the gulls! Did not the Lady tell me to beware of them? And now I
cannot forget them.’

‘For my part I heeded them not,’ said Gimli; ‘for we came then at last
upon battle in earnest. There at Pelargir lay the main fleet of Umbar, fifty
great ships and smaller vessels beyond count. Many of those that we pursued had
reached the havens before us, and brought their fear with them; and some of the
ships had put off, seeking to escape down the River or to reach the far shore;
and many of the smaller craft were ablaze. But the Haradrim, being now driven to
the brink, turned at bay, and they were fierce in despair; and they laughed when
they looked on us, for they were a great army still.

‘But Aragorn halted and cried with a great voice: “Now come! By the Black
Stone I call you! “ And suddenly the Shadow Host that had hung back at the
last came up like a grey tide, sweeping all away before it. Faint cries I heard,
and dim horns blowing, and a murmur as of countless far voices: it was like the
echo of some forgotten battle in the Dark Years long ago. Pale swords were
drawn; but I know not whether their blades would still bite, for the Dead needed
no longer any weapon but fear. None would withstand them.

‘To every ship they came that was drawn up, and then they passed over the
water to those that were anchored; and all the mariners were filled with a
madness of terror and leaped overboard, save the slaves chained to the oars.
Reckless we rode among our fleeing foes, driving
them like leaves, until we came to the shore. And then to each of the great
ships that remained Aragorn sent one of the Dúnedain, and they comforted
the captives that were aboard, and bade them put aside fear and be free.

‘Ere that dark day ended none of the enemy were left to resist us all were
drowned, or were flying south in the hope to find their own lands upon foot.
Strange and wonderful I thought it that the designs of Mordor should be
overthrown by such wraiths of fear and darkness. With its own weapons was it
worsted!’

‘Strange indeed,’ said Legolas. ‘In that hour I looked on Aragorn and
thought how great and terrible a Lord he might have become in the strength of
his will, had he taken the Ring to himself. Not for naught does Mordor
fear him. But nobler is his spirit than the understanding of Sauron; for is he
not of the children of Lúthien? Never shall that line fail, though the
years may lengthen beyond count.’

‘Beyond the eyes of the Dwarves are such foretellings,’ said Gimli.
‘But mighty indeed was Aragorn that day. Lo! all the black fleet was in his
hands; and he chose the greatest ship to be his own, and he went up into it.
Then he let sound a great concourse of trumpets taken from the enemy; and the
Shadow Host withdrew to the shore. There they stood silent, hardly to be seen,
save for a red gleam in their eyes that caught the glare of the ships that were
burning. And Aragorn spoke in a loud voice to the Dead Men, crying:

‘ “Hear now the words of the Heir of Isildur! Your oath is fulfilled. Go
back and trouble not the valleys ever again! Depart and be at rest! “

‘And thereupon the King of the Dead stood out before the host and broke his
spear and cast it down. Then he bowed low and turned away; and swiftly the whole
grey host drew off and vanished like a mist that is driven back by a sudden
wind; and it seemed to me that I awoke from a dream.

‘That night we rested while others laboured. For there were many captives
set free, and many slaves released who had been folk of Gondor taken in raids;
and soon also there was a great gathering of men out of Lebennin and the Ethir,
and Angbor of Lamedon came up with all the horsemen that he could muster. Now
that the fear of the Dead was removed they came to aid us and to look on the
Heir of Isildur; for the rumour of that name had run like fire in the dark.

‘And that is near the end of our tale. For during that evening and night
many ships were made ready and manned; and in the morning the fleet set forth.
Long past it now seems, yet it was but the morn of the day ere yesterday, the
sixth since we rode from Dunharrow. But still Aragorn was driven by fear that
time was too short.

‘ “It is forty leagues and two from Pelargir to the landings at the
Harlond,” he said. “Yet to the Harlond we must come tomorrow or fail
utterly.”

‘The oars were now wielded by free men, and manfully they laboured; yet
slowly we passed up the Great River, for we strove against its stream, and
though that is not swift down in the South, we had no help of wind. Heavy would
my heart have been, for all our victory at the havens, if Legolas had not
laughed suddenly.

‘ “Up with your beard, Durin’s son! “ he said. “For thus is it
spoken: Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn.” But what hope he saw
from afar he would not tell. When night came it did but deepen the darkness, and
our hearts were hot, for away in the North we saw a red glow under the cloud,
and Aragorn said: “Minas Tirith is burning.”

‘But at midnight hope was indeed born anew. Sea-crafty men of the Ethir
gazing southward spoke of a change coming with a fresh wind from the Sea. Long
ere day the masted ships hoisted sail; and our speed grew, until dawn whitened
the foam at our prows. And so it was, as you know, that we came in the third
hour of the morning with a fair wind and the Sun unveiled, and we unfurled the
great standard in battle. It was a great day and a great hour, whatever may come
after.’

‘Follow what may, great deeds are not lessened in worth,’ said Legolas.
‘Great deed was the riding of the Paths of the Dead, and great it shall
remain, though none be left in Gondor to sing of it in the days that are to
come.’

‘And that may well befall,’ said Gimli. ‘For the faces of Aragorn and
Gandalf are grave. Much I wonder what counsels they are taking in the tents
there below. For my part, like Merry, I wish that with our victory the war was
now over. Yet whatever is still to do, I hope to have a part in it, for the
honour of the folk of the Lonely Mountain.’

‘And I for the folk of the Great Wood,’ said Legolas, ‘and for the love
of the Lord of the White Tree.’

Then the companions fell silent, but a while they sat there in the high
place, each busy with his own thoughts, while the Captains debated.

When the Prince Imrahil had parted from Legolas and Gimli, at once
he sent for Éomer; and he went down with him from the City, and they came
to the tents of Aragorn that were set up on the field not far from the place
where King Théoden had fallen. And there they took counsel together with
Gandalf and Aragorn and the sons of Elrond.

‘My lords,’ said Gandalf, ‘listen to the words of the Steward of Gondor
before he died: You may triumph on the fields of the Pelennor for a day, but
against the Power that has now arisen there is no victory. I do not bid you
despair, as he did, but to ponder the truth in these words.

‘The Stones of Seeing do not lie, and not even the Lord of Barad-dûr
can make them do so. He can, maybe, by his will choose what things shall be seen
by weaker minds, or cause them to mistake the meaning of what they see.
Nonetheless it cannot be doubted that when Denethor saw great forces arrayed
against him in Mordor, and more still being gathered, he saw that which truly
is.

‘Hardly has our strength sufficed to beat off the first great assault. The
next will be greater. This war then is without final hope, as Denethor
perceived. Victory cannot be achieved by arms, whether you sit here to endure
siege after siege, or march out to be overwhelmed beyond the River. You have
only a choice of evils; and prudence would counsel you to strengthen such strong
places as you have, and there await the onset; for so shall the time before your
end be made a little longer.’

‘Then you would have us retreat to Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or to
Dunharrow, and there sit like children on sand-castles when the tide is
flowing?’ said Imrahil.

‘That would be no new counsel,’ said Gandalf. ‘Have you not done this
and little more in all the days of Denethor? But no! I said this would be
prudent. I do not counsel prudence. I said victory could
not be achieved by arms. I still hope for victory, but not by arms. For into the
midst of all these policies comes the Ring of Power, the foundation of Barad-dûr,
and the hope of Sauron.

‘Concerning this thing, my lords, you now all know enough for the
understanding of our plight, and of Sauron’s. If he regains it, your valour is
vain, and his victory will be swift and complete: so complete that none can
foresee the end of it while this world lasts. If it is destroyed, then he will
fall; and his fall will be so low that none can foresee his arising ever again.
For he will lose the best part of the strength that was native to him in his
beginning, and all that was made or begun with that power will crumble, and he
will be maimed for ever, becoming a mere spirit of malice that gnaws itself in
the shadows, but cannot again grow or take shape. And so a great evil of this
world will be removed.

‘Other evils there are that may come; for Sauron is himself but a servant
or emissary. Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to
do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting
the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean
earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.

‘Now Sauron knows all this, and he knows that this precious thing which he
lost has been found again; but he does not yet know where it is, or so we hope.
And therefore he is now in great doubt. For if we have found this thing, there
are some among us with strength enough to wield it. That too he knows. For do I
not guess rightly, Aragorn, that you have shown yourself to him in the Stone of
Orthanc?’

‘I did so ere I rode from the Hornburg,’ answered Aragorn. ‘I deemed
that the time was ripe, and that the Stone had come to me for just such a
purpose. It was then ten days since the Ring-bearer went east from Rauros, and
the Eye of Sauron, I thought, should be drawn out from his own land. Too seldom
has he been challenged since he returned to his Tower. Though if I had foreseen
how swift would be his onset in answer, maybe I should not have dared to show
myself. Bare time was given me to come to your aid.’

‘But how is this?’ asked Éomer. ‘All is vain, you say, if he has
the Ring. Why should he think it not vain to assail us, if we have it?’

‘He is not yet sure,’ said Gandalf, ‘and he has not built up his power
by waiting until his enemies are secure, as we have done. Also we could not
learn how to wield the full power all in a day. Indeed it can be used only by
one master alone, not by many; and he will look for a time of strife, ere one of
the great among us makes himself master and puts down the others. In that time
the Ring might aid him, if he were sudden.

‘He is watching. He sees much and hears much. His
Nazgûl are still abroad. They passed over this field ere the sunrise,
though few of the weary and sleeping were aware of them. He studies the signs:
the Sword that robbed him of his treasure re-made; the winds of fortune turning
in our favour, and the defeat unlooked-for of his first assault the fall
of his great Captain.

‘His doubt will be growing, even as we speak here. His Eye is now straining
towards us, blind almost to all else that is moving. So we must keep it. Therein
lies all our hope. This, then, is my counsel. We have not the Ring. In wisdom or
great folly it has been sent away to be destroyed, lest it destroy us. Without
it we cannot by force defeat his force. But we must at all costs keep his Eye
from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give
the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be.

‘As Aragorn has begun, so we must go on. We must push Sauron to his last
throw. We must call out his hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land. We
must march out to meet him at once. We must make ourselves the bait, though his
jaws should close on us. He will take that bait, in hope and in greed, for he
will think that in such rashness he sees the pride of the new Ringlord: and he
will say: “So! he pushes out his neck too soon and too far. Let him come on,
and behold I will have him in a trap from which he cannot escape. There I will
crush him, and what he has taken in his insolence shall be mine again for
ever.”

‘We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but
small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves
shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even
if Barad-dûr be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this,
I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless - as we
surely shall, if we sit here - and know as we die that no new age shall be.’

They were silent for a while. At length Aragorn spoke. ‘As I have begun, so
I will go on. We come now to the very brink, where hope and despair are akin. To
waver is to fall. Let none now reject the counsels of Gandalf, whose long
labours against Sauron come at last to their test. But for him all would long
ago have been lost. Nonetheless I do not yet claim to command any man. Let
others choose as they will.’

Then said Elrohir: ‘From the North we came with this purpose, and from
Elrond our father we brought this very counsel. We will not turn back.’

‘As for myself,’ said Éomer, ‘I have little knowledge of these
deep matters; but I need it not. This I know, and it is enough, that as
my friend Aragorn succoured me and my people, so I will aid him when he calls. I
will go.’

‘As for me,’ said Imrahil, ‘the Lord Aragorn I hold to be my
liege-lord, whether he claim it or no. His wish is to me a command. I will go
also. Yet for a while I stand in the place of the Steward of Gondor, and it is
mine to think first of its people. To prudence some heed must still be given.
For we must prepare against all chances, good as well as evil. Now, it may be
that we shall triumph, and while there is any hope of this, Gondor must be
protected. I would not have us return with victory to a City in ruins and a land
ravaged behind us. And yet we learn from the Rohirrim that there is an army
still unfought upon our northern flank.’

‘That is true,’ said Gandalf. ‘I do not counsel you to leave the City
all unmanned. Indeed the force that we lead east need not be great enough for
any assault in earnest upon Mordor, so long as it be great enough to challenge
battle. And it must move soon. Therefore I ask the Captains: what force could we
muster and lead out in two days’ time at the latest? And they must be hardy
men that go willingly, knowing their peril.’

‘All are weary, and very many have wounds light or grievous,’ said
Éomer, ‘and we have suffered much loss of our horses, and that is ill
to bear. If we must ride soon, then I cannot hope to lead even two thousands,
and yet leave as many for the defence of the City.’

‘We have not only to reckon with those who fought on this field ‘ said
Aragorn. ‘New strength is on the way from the southern fiefs, now that the
coasts have been rid. Four thousands I sent marching from Pelargir through
Lossarnach two days ago; and Angbor the fearless rides before them. If we set
out in two days more, they will draw nigh ere we depart. Moreover many were
bidden to follow me up the River in any craft they could gather; and with this
wind they will soon be at hand, indeed several ships have already come to the
Harlond. I judge that we could lead out seven thousands of horse and foot, and
yet leave the City in better defence than it was when the assault began.’

‘The Gate is destroyed,’ said Imrahil, ‘and where now is the skill to
rebuild it and set it up anew?’

‘In Erebor in the Kingdom of Dáin there is such skill,’ said
Aragorn; ‘and if all our hopes do not perish, then in time I will send Gimli
Glóin’s son to ask for wrights of the Mountain. But men are better than
gates, and no gate will endure against our Enemy if men desert it.’

This then was the end of the debate of the lords: that they should set forth
on the second morning from that day with seven thousands, if these might be
found; and the great part of this force should be on foot, because of the evil
lands into which they would go. Aragorn should find
some two thousands of those that he had gathered to him in the South; but
Imrahil should find three and a half thousands; and Éomer five hundreds
of the Rohirrim who were unhorsed but themselves warworthy, and he himself
should lead five hundreds of his best Riders on horse; and another company of
five hundred horse there should be, among which should ride the sons of Elrond
with the Dúnedain and the knights of Dol Amroth: all told six thousand
foot and a thousand horse. But the main strength of the Rohirrim that remained
horsed and able to fight, some three thousand under the command of Elfhelm,
should waylay the West Road against the enemy that was in Anórien. And at
once swift riders were sent out to gather what news they could northwards; and
eastwards from Osgiliath and the road to Minas Morgul.

And when they had reckoned up all their strength and taken thought for the
journeys they should make and the roads they should choose, Imrahil suddenly
laughed aloud.

‘Surely,’ he cried, ‘this is the greatest jest in all the history of
Gondor: that we should ride with seven thousands, scarce as many as the vanguard
of its army in the days of its power, to assail the mountains and the
impenetrable gate of the Black Land! So might a child threaten a mail-clad
knight with a bow of string and green willow! If the Dark Lord knows so much as
you say, Mithrandir, will he not rather smile than fear, and with his little
finger crush us like a fly that tries to sting him?’

‘No, he will try to trap the fly and take the sting,’ said Gandalf.
‘And there are names among us that are worth more than a thousand mail-clad
knights apiece. No, he will not smile.’

‘Neither shall we,’ said Aragorn. ‘If this be jest, then it is too
bitter for laughter. Nay, it is the last move in a
great jeopardy, and for one side or the other it will bring the end of the
game.’ Then he drew Andúril and held it up glittering in the sun.
‘You shall not be sheathed again until the last battle is fought;’ he said.

Chapter 10

The Black Gate Opens

Two days later the army of the West was all assembled on the Pelennor. The
host of Orcs and Easterlings had turned back out of Anórien, but harried
and scattered by the Rohirrim they had broken and fled with little fighting
towards Cair Andros; and with that threat destroyed and new strength
arriving out of the South the City was as well manned as might be. Scouts
reported that no enemies remained upon the roads east as far as the Cross-roads
of the Fallen King. All now was ready for the last throw.

Legolas and Gimli were to ride again together in
the company of Aragorn and Gandalf, who went in the van with the Dúnedain
and the sons of Elrond. But Merry to his shame was not to go with them.

‘You are not fit for such a journey,’ said Aragorn. ‘But do not be
ashamed. If you do no more in this war, you have already earned great honour.
Peregrin shall go and represent the Shirefolk; and do not grudge him his chance
of peril, for though he has done as well as his fortune allowed him, he has yet
to match your deed. But in truth all now are in like danger. Though it may be
our part to find bitter end before the Gate of Mordor, if we do so, then you
will come also to a last stand, either here or wherever the black tide overtakes
you. Farewell!’

And so despondently Merry now stood and watched the mustering of the army.
Bergil was with him, and he also was downcast; for his father was to march
leading a company of the Men of the City: he could not rejoin the Guard until
his case was judged. In that same company Pippin was also to go, as a soldier of
Gondor. Merry could see him not far off, a small but upright figure among the
tall men of Minas Tirith.

At last the trumpets rang and the army began to move. Troop by troop, and
company by company, they wheeled and went off eastward. And long after they had
passed away out of sight down the great road to the Causeway, Merry stood there.
The last glint of the morning sun on spear and helm twinkled and was lost, and
still he remained with bowed head and heavy heart, feeling friendless and alone.
Everyone that he cared for had gone away into the gloom that hung over the
distant eastern sky; and little hope at all was left in his heart that he would
ever see any of them again.

As if recalled by his mood of despair, the pain in his arm returned, and he
felt weak and old, and the sunlight seemed thin. He was roused by the touch of
Bergil’s hand.

‘Come, Master Perian!’ said the lad. ‘You are still in pain, I see. I
will help you back to the Healers. But do not fear! They will come back. The Men
of Minas Tirith will never be overcome. And now they have the Lord Elfstone, and
Beregond of the Guard too.’

Ere noon the army came to Osgiliath. There all the workers and craftsmen that
could be spared were busy. Some were strengthening the ferries and boat-bridges
that the enemy had made and in part destroyed when they fled; some gathered
stores and booty; and others on the eastern side across the River were throwing
up hasty works of defence.

The vanguard passed on through the ruins of Old Gondor, and over the wide
River, and on up the long straight road that in the high days had been made to
run from the fair Tower of the Sun to the tall Tower of the Moon, which now was
Minas Morgul in its accursed vale. Five miles beyond Osgiliath they halted,
ending their first day’s march.

But the horsemen pressed on and ere evening they came to the Cross-roads and
the great ring of trees, and all was silent. No sign of any enemy had they seen,
no cry or call had been heard, no shaft had sped from rock or thicket by the
way, yet ever as they went forward they felt the watchfulness of the land
increase. Tree and stone, blade and leaf were listening. The darkness had been
dispelled, and far away westward sunset was on the Vale of Anduin, and the white
peaks of the mountains blushed in the blue air; but
a shadow and a gloom brooded upon the Ephel Dúath.

Then Aragorn set trumpeters at each of the four roads that ran into the ring
of trees, and they blew a great fanfare, and the heralds cried aloud: ‘The
Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take
back.’ The hideous orc-head that was set upon the carven figure was cast down
and broken in pieces, and the old king’s head was raised and set in its place
once more, still crowned with white and golden flowers: and men laboured to wash
and pare away all the foul scrawls that orcs had put upon the stone.

Now in their debate some had counselled that Minas Morgul should first be
assailed, and if they might take it, it should be utterly destroyed. ‘And,
maybe,’ said Imrahil, ‘the road that leads thence to the pass above will
prove an easier way of assault upon the Dark Lord than his northern gate.’

But against this Gandalf had spoken urgently, because of the evil that dwelt
in the valley, where the minds of living men would turn to madness and horror,
and because also of the news that Faramir had brought. For if the Ring-bearer
had indeed attempted that way, then above all they should not draw the Eye of
Mordor thither. So the next day when the main host came up, they set a strong
guard upon the Cross-roads to make some defence, if Mordor should send a force
over the Morgul Pass, or should bring more men up from the South. For that guard
they chose mostly archers who knew the ways of Ithilien and would lie hid in the
woods and slopes about the meeting of the ways. But Gandalf and Aragorn rode
with the vanguard to the entrance of Morgul Vale and looked on the evil city.

It was dark and lifeless; for the Orcs and lesser creatures of Mordor that
had dwelt there had been destroyed in battle, and
the Nazgûl were abroad. Yet the air of the valley was heavy with fear and
enmity. Then they broke the evil bridge and set red flames in the noisome fields
and departed.

The day after, being the third day since they set out from Minas Tirith, the
army began its northward march along the road. It was some hundred miles by that
way from the Cross-roads to the Morannon, and what might befall them before they
came so far none knew They went openly but heedfully, with mounted
scouts before them on the road, and others on foot upon either side, especially
on the eastward flank; for there lay dark thickets, and a tumbled land of rocky
ghylls and crags, behind which the long grim slopes of the Ephel Dúath
clambered up. The weather of the world remained fair and the wind held in
the west, but nothing could waft away the glooms and the sad mists that clung
about the Mountains of Shadow; and behind them at whiles great smokes would
arise and hover in the upper winds.

Ever and anon Gandalf let blow the trumpets, and the heralds would cry:
“The Lords of Gondor are come! Let all leave this land or yield them up!’
But Imrahil said: ‘Say not The Lords of Gondor. Say The King Elessar.
For that is true, even though he has not yet sat upon the throne; and it will
give the Enemy more thought, if the heralds use that name.’ And thereafter
thrice a day the heralds proclaimed the coming of the King Elessar. But none
answered the challenge.

Nonetheless, though they marched in seeming peace, the hearts of all the
army, from the highest to the lowest, were downcast, and with every mile that
they went north foreboding of evil grew heavier on them. It was near the end of
the second day of their march from the Cross-roads that they first met any offer
of battle. For a strong force of Orcs and Easterlings attempted to take their
leading companies in an ambush; and that was in the very place where Faramir had
waylaid the men of Harad, and the road went in a deep cutting through an
out-thrust of the eastward hills. But the Captains
of the West were well warned by their scouts, skilled men from Henneth Annûn
led by Mablung; and so the ambush was itself trapped. For horsemen went wide
about westward and came up on the flank of the enemy and from behind, and
they were destroyed or driven east into the hills.

But the victory did little to enhearten the captains. ‘It is but a
feint,’ said Aragorn; ‘and its chief purpose, I deem, was rather to draw us
on by a false guess of our Enemy’s weakness than to do us much
hurt, yet.’ And from that evening onward the Nazgûl came and followed
every move of the army. They still flew high and out of sight of all save
Legolas, and yet their presence could be felt, as a deepening of shadow and a
dimming of the sun; and though the Ringwraiths did not yet stoop low upon
their foes and were silent, uttering no cry, the dread of them could not be
shaken off.

So time and the hopeless journey wore away. Upon the fourth day from the
Cross-roads and the sixth from Minas Tirith they came at last to the end of the
living lands, and began to pass into the desolation that lay before the gates of
the Pass of Cirith Gorgor; and they could descry the marshes and the desert that
stretched north and west to the Emyn Muil. So desolate were those places and so
deep the horror that lay on them that some of the host were unmanned, and they
could neither walk nor ride further north.

Aragorn looked at them, and there was pity in his eyes rather than wrath; for
these were young men from Rohan, from Westfold far away, or husbandmen from
Lossarnach, and to them Mordor had been from childhood a name of evil, and yet
unreal, a legend that had no part in their simple life; and now they walked like
men in a hideous dream made true, and they understood not this war nor why fate
should lead them to such a pass.

‘Go!’ said Aragorn. ‘But keep what honour you may, and do not run! And
there is a task which you may attempt and so be not wholly shamed. Take your way
south-west till you come to Cair Andros, and if that is still held by enemies,
as I think, then re-take it, if you can; and hold it to the last in defence of
Gondor and Rohan!’

Then some being shamed by his mercy overcame their fear and went on, and the
others took new hope, hearing of a manful deed within their measure that they
could turn to, and they departed. And so, since many men had already been left
at the Cross-roads, it was with less than six thousands that the Captains of the
West came at last to challenge the Black Gate and the might of Mordor.

They advanced now slowly, expecting at every hour some answer to their
challenge, and they drew together, since it was but waste of men to send out
scouts or small parties from the main host. At nightfall of the fifth day of the
march from Morgul Vale they made their last camp, and set fires about it of such
dead wood and heath as they could find. They passed the hours of night in
wakefulness and they were aware of many things half-seen that walked and prowled
all about them, and they heard the howling of wolves. The wind had died and all
the air seemed still. They could see little, for though it was cloudless and the
waxing moon was four nights old, there were smokes and fumes that rose out of
the earth and the white crescent was shrouded in the mists of Mordor.

It grew cold. As morning came the wind began to stir again, but now it came
from the North, and soon it freshened to a rising breeze. All the night-walkers
were gone, and the land seemed empty. North amid their noisome pits lay the
first of the great heaps and hills of slag and broken rock and blasted earth,
the vomit of the maggot-folk of Mordor; but south and now near loomed the great
rampart of Cirith Gorgor, and the Black Gate amidmost, and the two Towers of the
Teeth tall and dark upon either side. For in their last march the Captains had
turned away from the old road as it bent east, and avoided the peril of the
lurking hills, and so now they were approaching the Morannon from the
north-west, even as Frodo had done.

The two vast iron doors of the Black Gate under its frowning arch were fast
closed. Upon the battlement nothing could be seen. All was silent but watchful.
They were come to the last end of their folly, and stood forlorn and chill in
the grey light of early day before towers and walls which their army could not
assault with hope, not even if it had brought thither engines of great power,
and the Enemy had no more force than would suffice for the manning of the gate
and wall alone. Yet they knew that all the hills and rocks about the Morannon
were filled with hidden foes, and the shadowy defile beyond was bored and
tunnelled by teeming broods of evil things. And as they stood they saw all the
Nazgûl gathered together, hovering above the Towers of the Teeth like
vultures; and they knew that they were watched. But still the Enemy made
no sign.

No choice was left them but to play their part to its end. Therefore Aragorn
now set the host in such array as could best be contrived; and they were drawn
up on two great hills of blasted stone and earth that orcs had piled in years of
labour. Before them towards Mordor lay like a moat a great mire of reeking mud
and foul-smelling pools. When all was ordered, the Captains rode forth towards
the Black Gate with a great guard of horsemen and the banner and heralds
and trumpeters. There was Gandalf as chief herald, and Aragorn with the sons of
Elrond, and Éomer of Rohan, and Imrahil; and Legolas and Gimli and
Peregrin were bidden to go also, so that all the enemies of Mordor should have a
witness.

They came within cry of the Morannon, and unfurled the banner, and blew upon
their trumpets; and the heralds stood out and sent their voices up over the
battlement of Mordor.

‘Come forth!’ they cried. ‘Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!
Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and
wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for
his evils, and depart then for ever. Come forth!’

There was a long silence, and from wall and gate no cry or sound was heard in
answer. But Sauron had already laid his plans, and he had a mind first to play
these mice cruelly before he struck to kill. So it was that, even as the
Captains were about to turn away, the silence was broken suddenly. There came a
long rolling of great drums like thunder in the mountains, and then a braying of
horns that shook the very stones and stunned men’s ears. And thereupon the
middle door of the Black Gate was thrown open with a great clang, and out of it
there came an embassy from the Dark Tower.

At its head there rode a tall and evil shape, mounted upon a black horse, if
horse it was; for it was huge and hideous, and its face was a frightful mask,
more like a skull than a living head, and in the sockets of its eyes and in its
nostrils there burned a flame. The rider was robed
all in black, and black was his lofty helm; yet this was no Ringwraith but a
living man. The Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dûr he was, and his name
is remembered in no tale; for he himself had forgotten it, and he said: ‘I am
the Mouth of Sauron.’ But it is told that he was a renegade, who came of the
race of those that are named the Black Númenóreans; for they
established their dwellings in Middle-earth during the years of Sauron’s
domination, and they worshipped him, being enamoured of evil knowledge.
And he entered the service of the Dark Tower when it first rose again, and
because of his cunning he grew ever higher in the Lord’s favour; and he
learned great sorcery, and knew much of the mind of Sauron; and he was more
cruel than any orc.

He it was that now rode out, and with him came only a small company of
black-harnessed soldiery, and a single banner, black but bearing on it in red
the Evil Eye. Now halting a few paces before the Captains of the West he looked
them up and down and laughed.

‘Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?’ he asked.
‘Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!’ he mocked, turning
to Aragorn with scorn. ‘It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish
glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good
a following!’

Aragorn said naught in answer, but he took the other’s eye and held it, and
for a moment they strove thus; but soon, though Aragorn did not stir nor move
hand to weapon, the other quailed and gave back as if menaced with a blow. ‘I
am a herald and ambassador, and may not be assailed!’ he cried.

‘Where such laws hold,’ said Gandalf, ‘it is also the custom for
ambassadors to use less insolence. But no one has threatened you. You have
naught to fear from us, until your errand is done. But unless your master has
come to new wisdom, then with all his servants you will be in great peril.’

‘So!’ said the Messenger. ‘Then thou art the spokesman, old greybeard?
Have we not heard of thee at whiles, and of thy wanderings, ever hatching plots
and mischief at a safe distance? But this time thou hast stuck out thy nose too
far, Master Gandalf; and thou shalt see what comes to him who sets his foolish
webs before the feet of Sauron the Great. I have tokens that I was bidden to
show to thee - to thee in especial, if thou shouldst dare to come.’ He signed
to one of his guards, and he came forward bearing a bundle swathed in black
cloths.

The Messenger put these aside, and there to the wonder and dismay of all the
Captains he held up first the short sword that Sam had carried, and next a grey
cloak with an elven-brooch, and last the coat of mithril-mail that Frodo had
worn wrapped in his tattered garments. A blackness came before their eyes, and
it seemed to them in a moment of silence that the world stood still, but their
hearts were dead and their last hope gone. Pippin who stood behind Prince
Imrahil sprang forward with a cry of grief.

‘Silence!’ said Gandalf sternly, thrusting him back; but the Messenger
laughed aloud.

‘So you have yet another of these imps with you!’ he cried. ‘What use
you find in them I cannot guess; but to send them as spies into Mordor is beyond
even your accustomed folly. Still, I thank him, for it is plain that this brat
at least has seen these tokens before, and it would be vain for you to deny them
now.’

‘I do not wish to deny them,’ said Gandalf. ‘Indeed, I know them all
and all their history, and despite your scorn, foul Mouth of Sauron, you cannot
say as much. But why do you bring them here?’

‘Dwarf-coat, elf-cloak, blade of the downfallen West, and spy from the
little rat-land of the Shire-nay; do not start! We know it well - here are the
marks of a conspiracy. Now, maybe he that bore these things was a creature that
you would not grieve to lose, and maybe otherwise: one dear to you, perhaps? If
so, take swift counsel with what little wit is left to you. For Sauron does not
love spies, and what his fate shall be depends now on your choice.’

No one answered him; but he saw their faces grey with fear and the horror in
their eyes, and he laughed again, for it seemed to him that his sport went well.
‘Good, good!’ he said. ‘He was dear to you, I see. Or else his errand was
one that you did not wish to fail? It has. And now he shall endure the slow
torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive,
and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he
may come to you, and you shall see what you have done. This shall surely
be-unless you accept my Lord’s terms.’

‘Name the terms,’ said Gandalf steadily, but those nearby saw the anguish
in his face, and now he seemed an old and wizened man, crushed, defeated at
last. They did not doubt that he would accept.

‘These are the terms,’ said the Messenger, and smiled as he eyed them one
by one. ‘The rabble of Gondor and its deluded allies shall withdraw at once
beyond the Anduin, first taking oaths never again to assail Sauron the Great in
arms, open or secret. All lands east of Anduin shall be Sauron’s for ever,
solely. West of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan
shall be tributary to Mordor, and men there shall bear no weapons, but shall
have leave to govern their own affairs. But they shall help to rebuild Isengard
which they have wantonly destroyed, and that shall be Sauron’s, and there his
lieutenant shall dwell: not Saruman, but one more worthy of trust.’

Looking in the Messenger’s eyes they read his thought. He was to be that
lieutenant, and gather all that remained of the West under his sway; he would be
their tyrant and they his slaves.

But Gandalf said: ‘This is much to demand for the delivery of one servant:
that your Master should receive in exchange what he must else fight many a war
to gain! Or has the field of Gondor destroyed his hope in war, so that he falls
to haggling? And if indeed we rated this prisoner so high, what surety have we
that Sauron the Base Master of Treachery, will keep his part? Where is this
prisoner? Let him be brought forth and yielded to us, and then we will consider
these demands.’

It seemed then to Gandalf, intent, watching him as a man engaged in fencing
with a deadly foe, that for the taking of a breath the Messenger was at a loss;
yet swiftly he laughed again.

‘Do not bandy words in your insolence with the Mouth of Sauron!’ he
cried. ‘Surety you crave! Sauron gives none. If you sue for his clemency you
must first do his bidding. These are his terms. Take them or leave them!’

‘These we will take!’ said Gandalf suddenly. He cast aside his cloak and
a white light shone forth like a sword in that black place. Before his upraised
hand the foul Messenger recoiled, and Gandalf coming seized and took from him
the tokens: coat, cloak, and sword. ‘These we will take in memory of our
friend,’ he cried. ‘But as for your terms, we reject them utterly. Get you
gone, for your embassy is over and death is near to you. We did not come here to
waste words in treating with Sauron, faithless and accursed; still less with one
of his slaves. Begone!’

Then the Messenger of Mordor laughed no more. His face was twisted with
amazement and anger to the likeness of some wild beast that, as it crouches on
its prey, is smitten on the muzzle with a stinging rod. Rage filled him and his
mouth slavered, and shapeless sounds of fury came strangling from his throat.
But he looked at the fell faces of the Captains and their deadly eyes, and fear
overcame his wrath. He gave a great cry, and turned, leaped upon his steed, and
with his company galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor. But as they went his
soldiers blew their horns in signal long arranged; and even before they came to
the gate Sauron sprang his trap.

Drums rolled and fires leaped up. The great doors of the Black Gate swung
back wide. Out of it streamed a great host as swiftly as swirling waters when a
sluice is lifted.

The Captains mounted again and rode back, and from the host of Mordor there
went up a jeering yell. Dust rose smothering the air, as from nearby there
marched up an army of Easterlings that had waited for the signal in the shadows
of Ered Lithui beyond the further Tower. Down from the hills on either side of
the Morannon poured Orcs innumerable. The men of the West were trapped, and
soon. all about the grey mounds where they stood, forces ten times and more than
ten times their match would ring them in a sea of enemies. Sauron had taken the
proffered bait in jaws of steel.

Little time was left to Aragorn for the ordering of his battle. Upon the one
hill he stood with Gandalf, and there fair and desperate was raised the banner
of the Tree and Stars. Upon the other hill hard by stood the banners of Rohan
and Dol Amroth, White Horse and Silver Swan. And about each hill a ring was made
facing all ways, bristling with spear and sword. But
in the front towards Mordor where the first bitter assault would come there
stood the sons of Elrond on the left with the Dúnedain about them, and on
the right the Prince Imrahil with the men of Dol Amroth tall and fair, and
picked men of the Tower of Guard.

The wind blew, and the trumpets sang, and arrows whined; but the sun now
climbing towards the South was veiled in the reeks of Mordor, and through a
threatening haze it gleamed, remote, a sullen red, as if it were the ending of
the day, or the end maybe of all the world of
light. And out of the gathering mirk the Nazgûl came with. their cold
voices crying words of death; and then all hope was quenched.

Pippin had bowed crushed with horror when he heard Gandalf reject the terms
and doom Frodo to the torment of the Tower; but he had mastered himself, and now
he stood beside Beregond in the front rank of Gondor with Imrahil’s men. For
it seemed best to him to die soon and leave the bitter story of his life, since
all was in ruin.

‘I wish Merry was here,’ he heard himself saying, and quick thoughts
raced through his mind, even as he watched the enemy come charging to the
assault. ‘Well, well, now at any rate I understand poor Denethor a little
better. We might die together, Merry and I, and since die we must, why not?
Well, as he is not here, I hope he’ll find an easier end. But now I must do my
best.’

He drew his sword and looked at it, and the intertwining shapes of red and
gold; and the flowing characters of Númenor glinted like fire upon the
blade. ‘This was made for just such an hour,’ he thought. ‘If only
I could smite that foul Messenger with it, then almost I should draw level with
old Merry. Well, I’ll smite some of this beastly brood before the end. I wish
I could see cool sunlight and green grass again!’

Then even as he thought these things the first assault crashed into them. The
orcs hindered by the mires that lay before the hills halted and poured their
arrows into the defending ranks. But through them there came striding up,
roaring like beasts, a great company of hill-trolls out of Gorgoroth. Taller and
broader than Men they were, and they were clad only in close-fitting mesh of
horny scales, or maybe that was their hideous hide; but they bore round bucklers
huge and black and wielded heavy hammers in their knotted hands. Reckless they
sprang into the pools and waded across, bellowing as they came. Like a storm
they broke upon the line of the men of Gondor, and beat upon helm and head, and
arm and shield as smiths hewing the hot bending iron. At Pippin’s side
Beregond was stunned and overborne, and he fell; and the great troll-chief that
smote him down bent over him, reaching out a clutching claw; for these fell
creatures would bite the throats of those that they threw down.

Then Pippin stabbed upwards, and the written blade of Westernesse pierced
through the hide and went deep into the vitals of the troll, and his black blood
came gushing out. He toppled forward and came crashing down like a falling rock,
burying those beneath him. Blackness and stench and crushing pain came upon
Pippin, and his mind fell away into a great darkness.

‘So it ends as I guessed it would,’ his thought said, even as it
fluttered away; and it laughed a little within him ere it fled, almost gay it
seemed to be casting off at last all doubt and care and fear. And then even as
it winged away into forgetfulness it heard voices, and they seemed to be crying
in some forgotten world far above:

‘The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!’

For one moment more Pippin’s thought hovered. ‘Bilbo!’ it said. ‘But
no! That came in his tale, long long ago. This is my tale, and it is ended now.
Good-bye!’ And his thought fled far away and his eyes saw no more.

Book VI

Chapter 1

The Tower of Cirith Ungol

Sam roused himself painfully from the ground. For a moment he wondered where
he was, and then all the misery and despair returned to him. He was in the deep
dark outside the under-gate of the orcs' stronghold; its brazen doors were shut.
He must have fallen stunned when he hurled himself against them; but how long he
had lain there he did not know. Then he had been on fire, desperate and furious;
now he was shivering and cold. He crept to the doors and pressed his ears
against them.

Far within he could hear faintly the voices of ores clamouring, but soon they
stopped or passed out of hearing, and all was still. His head ached and his eyes
saw phantom lights in the darkness, but he struggled to steady himself and
think. It was clear at any rate that he had no hope of getting into the orc-hold
by that gate; he might wait there for days before it was opened, and he could
not wait: time was desperately precious. He no longer had any doubt about his
duty: he must rescue his master or perish in the attempt.

‘The perishing is more likely, and will be a lot easier anyway,’ he said
grimly to himself, as he sheathed Sting and turned from the brazen doors. Slowly
he groped his way back in the dark along the tunnel, not daring to use the
elven-light; and as he went he tried to fit together the events since Frodo and
he had left the Cross-roads. He wondered what the time was. Somewhere between
one day and the next, he supposed; but even of the days he had quite lost count.
He was in a land of darkness where the days of the world seemed forgotten, and
where all who entered were forgotten too.

‘I wonder if they think of us at all,’ he said, ‘and what is happening
to them all away there.’ He waved his hand vaguely in the air before him; but
he was in fact now facing southwards, as he came back to Shelob’s tunnel, not
west. Out westward in the world it was drawing to noon upon the fourteenth day
of March in the Shire-reckoning. And even now Aragorn was leading the black
fleet from Pelargir, and Merry was riding with the Rohirrim down the Stonewain
Valley, while in Minas Tirith flames were rising and Pippin watched the madness
growing in the eyes of Denethor. Yet amid all their cares and fear the thoughts
of their friends turned constantly to Frodo and Sam. They were not forgotten.
But they were far beyond aid, and no thought could yet bring any help to Samwise
Hamfast’s son; he was utterly alone.

He came back at last to the stone door of the orc-passage, and still unable to
discover the catch or bolt that held it, he scrambled over as before and dropped
softly to the ground. Then he made his way stealthily to the outlet of
Shelob’s tunnel, where the rags of her great web were still blowing and
swaying in the cold airs. For cold they seemed to Sam after the noisome darkness
behind; but the breath of them revived him. He crept cautiously out.

All was ominously quiet. The light was no more than that of dusk at a dark
day’s end. The vast vapours that arose in Mordor and went streaming westward
passed low overhead, a great welter of cloud and smoke now lit again beneath
with a sullen glow of red.

Sam looked up towards the orc-tower, and suddenly from its narrow windows
lights stared out like small red eyes. He wondered if they were some signal. His
fear of the orcs, forgotten for a while in his wrath and desperation, now
returned. As far as he could see, there was only one possible course for him to
take: he must go on and try to find the main entrance to the dreadful tower; but
his knees felt weak, and he found that he was trembling. Drawing his eyes down
from the tower and the horns of the Cleft before him, he forced his unwilling
feet to obey him, and slowly, listening with all his ears, peering into the
dense shadows of the rocks beside the way, he retraced his steps, past the place
where Frodo fell, and still the stench of Shelob lingered, and then on and up,
until he stood again in the very cleft where he had put on the Ring and seen
Shagrat’s company go by.

There he halted and sat down. For the moment he could drive himself no
further. He felt that if once he went beyond the crown of the pass and took one
step veritably down into the land of Mordor, that step would be irrevocable. He
could never come back. Without any clear purpose he drew out the Ring and put it
on again. Immediately he felt the great burden of its weight, and felt afresh,
but now more strong and urgent than ever, the malice of the Eye of Mordor,
searching, trying to pierce the shadows that it had made for its own defence,
but which now hindered it in its unquiet and doubt.

As before, Sam found that his hearing was sharpened, but that to his sight
the things of this world seemed thin and vague. The rocky walls of the path were
pale, as if seen through a mist, but still at a distance he heard the bubbling
of Shelob in her misery: and harsh and clear, and very close it seemed, he heard
cries and the clash of metal. He sprang to his feet, and pressed himself against
the wall beside the road. He was glad of the Ring, for here was yet another
company of orcs on the march. Or so at first he thought. Then suddenly he
realized that it was not so, his hearing had deceived him: the orc-cries came
from the tower, whose topmost horn was now right above him, on the left hand of
the Cleft.

Sam shuddered and tried to force himself to move. There was plainly some
devilry going on. Perhaps in spite of all orders the cruelty of the orcs had
mastered them, and they were tormenting Frodo, or even savagely hacking him to
pieces. He listened; and as he did a gleam of hope came to him. There could not
be much doubt: there was fighting in the tower, the orcs must be at war among
themselves, Shagrat and Gorbag had come to blows. Faint as was the hope that his
guess brought him, it was enough to rouse him. There might be just a chance. His
love for Frodo rose above all other thoughts, and forgetting his peril he cried
aloud: ‘I’m coming, Mr. Frodo!’

He ran forward to the climbing path, and over it. At once the road turned
left and plunged steeply down. Sam had crossed into Mordor.

He took off the Ring, moved it may be by some deep premonition of danger, though
to himself he thought only that he wished to see more clearly. `Better have a
look at the worst,’ he muttered. `No good blundering about in a fog!’

Hard and cruel and bitter was the land that met his gaze. Before his feet the
highest ridge of the Ephel Dúath fell
steeply in great cliffs down into a dark trough, on the further side of which
there rose another ridge, much lower, its edge notched and jagged with crags
like fangs that stood out black against the red light behind them: it was
the grim Morgai, the inner ring of the fences of the land. Far beyond it, but
almost straight ahead, across a wide lake of darkness dotted with tiny fires,
there was a great burning glow; and from it rose in huge columns a swirling
smoke, dusty red at the roots, black above where it merged into the billowing
canopy that roofed in all the accursed land.

Sam was looking at Orodruin, the Mountain of Fire. Ever and anon the furnaces
far below its ashen cone would grow hot and with a great surging and throbbing
pour forth rivers of molten rock from chasms in its sides. Some would flow
blazing towards Barad-dûr down great channels; some would wind their way
into the stony plain, until they cooled and lay like twisted dragon-shapes
vomited from the tormented earth. In such an hour of labour Sam beheld Mount
Doom, and the light of it, cut off by the high screen of the Ephel Dúath
from those who climbed up the path from the West, now glared against the stark
rock faces, so that they seemed to be drenched with blood.

In that dreadful light Sam stood aghast, for now, looking to his left, he
could see the Tower of Cirith Ungol in all its strength. The horn that he had
seen from the other side was only its topmost turret. Its eastern face stood up
in three great tiers from a shelf in the mountain-wall far below; its back was
to a great cliff behind, from which it jutted out in pointed bastions, one above
the other, diminishing as they rose, with sheer sides of cunning masonry that
looked north-east and south-east. About the lowest tier, two hundred feet below
where Sam now stood, there was a battlemented wall enclosing a narrow court. Its
gate, upon the near south-eastern side, opened on a broad road, the outer
parapet of which ran upon the brink of a precipice, until
it turned southward and went winding down into the darkness to join the road
that came over the Morgul Pass. Then on it went through a jagged rift in the
Morgai out into the valley of Gorgoroth and away to Barad-dûr. The narrow
upper way on which Sam stood leapt swiftly down by stair and steep path
to meet the main road under the frowning walls close to the Tower-gate.

As he gazed at it suddenly Sam understood, almost with a shock, that this
stronghold had been built not to keep enemies out of Mordor, but to keep them
in. It was indeed one of the works of Gondor long ago, an eastern outpost of the
defences of Ithilien, made when, after the Last Alliance, Men of Westernesse
kept watch on the evil land of Sauron where his creatures still lurked. But as
with Narchost and Carchost, the Towers of the Teeth, so here too the vigilance
had failed, and treachery had yielded up the Tower to the Lord of the
Ringwraiths, and now for long years it had been held by evil things. Since his
return to Mordor, Sauron had found it useful; for he had few servants but many
slaves of fear, and still its chief purpose as of old was to prevent escape from
Mordor. Though if an enemy were so rash as to try to enter that land secretly,
then it was also a last unsleeping guard against any that might pass the
vigilance of Morgul and of Shelob.

Only too clearly Sam saw how hopeless it would be for him to creep down under
those many-eyed walls and pass the watchful gate. And even if he did so, he
could not go far on the guarded road beyond: not even the black shadows, lying
deep where the red glow could not reach, would shield him long from the
night-eyed orcs. But desperate as that road might be, his task was now far
worse: not to avoid the gate and escape, but to enter it, alone.

His thought turned to the Ring, but there was no comfort there, only dread and
danger. No sooner had he come in sight of Mount Doom, burning far away, than he
was aware of a change in his burden. As it drew near the great furnaces where,
in the deeps of time, it had been shaped and forged, the Ring’s power grew,
and it became more fell, untameable save by some mighty will. As Sam stood
there, even though the Ring was not on him but hanging by its chain about his
neck, he felt himself enlarged, as if he were robed in a huge distorted shadow
of himself, a vast and ominous threat halted upon the walls of Mordor. He felt
that he had from now on only two choices: to forbear the Ring, though it would
torment him; or to claim it, and challenge the Power that sat in its dark hold
beyond the valley of shadows. Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will
and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong,
Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and
armies flocking to his call as he marched to the
overthrow of Barad-dûr. And then all the clouds rolled away, and the white
sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became a garden of flowers
and trees and brought forth fruit. He had only to put on the Ring and
claim it for his own, and all this could be.

In that hour of trial it was the love of his master that helped most to hold
him firm; but also deep down in him lived still unconquered his plain
hobbit-sense: he knew in the core of his heart that he was not large enough to
bear such a burden, even if such visions were not a mere cheat to betray him.
The one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden
swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command.

‘And anyway all these notions are only a trick,’ he said to himself.
‘He’d spot me and cow me, before I could so much as shout out. He’d spot
me, pretty quick, if I put the Ring on now, in Mordor. Well, all I can say is:
things look as hopeless as a frost in spring. Just when being invisible would be
really useful, I can’t use the Ring! And if ever I get any further, it’s
going to be nothing but a drag and a burden every step. So what’s to be
done?’

He was not really in any doubt. He knew that he must go down to the gate and
not linger any more. With a shrug of his shoulders, as if to shake off the
shadow and dismiss the phantoms, he began slowly to descend. With each step he
seemed to diminish. He had not gone far before he had shrunk again to a very
small and frightened hobbit. He was now passing under the very walls of the
Tower, and the cries and sounds of fighting could be heard with his unaided
ears. At the moment the noise seemed to be coming from the court behind the
outer wall.

Sam was about half way down the path when out of the dark gateway into the red
glow there came two orcs running. They did not turn towards him. They were
making for the main road; but even as they ran they stumbled and fell to the
ground and lay still. Sam had seen no arrows, but he guessed that the orcs had
been shot down by others on the battlements or hidden in the shadow of the gate.
He went on, hugging the wall on his left. One look upward had shown him that
there was no hope of climbing it. The stone-work rose thirty feet, without a
crack or ledge, to overhanging courses like inverted steps. The gate was the
only way.

He crept on; and as he went he wondered how many orcs lived in the Tower with
Shagrat, and how many Gorbag had, and what they were quarrelling about, if that
was what was happening. Shagrat’s company had seemed to be about forty, and
Gorbag’s more than twice as large; but of course Shagrat’s patrol had only
been a part of his garrison. Almost certainly they were quarrelling about Frodo,
and the spoil. For a second Sam halted, for suddenly things seemed clear to him,
almost as if he had seen them with his eyes. The mithril coat! Of course, Frodo
was wearing it, and they would find it. And from what Sam had heard Gorbag would
covet it. But the orders of the Dark Tower were at present Frodo’s only
protection, and if they were set aside, Frodo might be killed out of hand at any
moment.

‘Come on, you miserable sluggard!’ Sam cried to himself. `Now for it!’
He drew Sting and ran towards the open gate. But just as he was about to pass
under its great arch he felt a shock: as if he had run into some web like
Shelob’s, only invisible. He could see no obstacle, but something too strong
for his will to overcome barred the way. He looked about, and then within the
shadow of the gate he saw the Two Watchers.

They were like great figures seated upon thrones. Each had three joined
bodies, and three heads facing outward, and inward, and across the gateway. The
heads had vulture-faces, and on their great knees were laid clawlike hands. They
seemed to be carved out of huge blocks of stone, immovable, and yet they were
aware: some dreadful spirit of evil vigilance abode in them. They knew an enemy.
Visible or invisible none could pass unheeded. They would forbid his entry, or
his escape.

Hardening his will Sam thrust forward once again, and halted with a jerk,
staggering as if from a blow upon his breast and head. Then greatly daring,
because he could think of nothing else to do, answering a sudden thought that
came to him, he drew slowly out the phial of Galadriel and held it up. Its white
light quickened swiftly, and the shadows under the dark arch fled. The monstrous
Watchers sat there cold and still, revealed in all their hideous shape. For a
moment Sam caught a glitter in the black stones of their eyes, the very malice
of which made him quail; but slowly he felt their will waver and crumble into
fear.

He sprang past them; but even as he did so, thrusting the phial back into his
bosom, he was aware, as plainly as if a bar of steel had snapped to behind him,
that their vigilance was renewed. And from those evil heads there came a high
shrill cry that echoed in the towering walls before him. Far up above, like an
answering signal, a harsh bell clanged a single stroke.

‘That’s done it!’ said Sam. `Now I’ve rung the front-door bell! Well,
come on somebody!’ he cried. `Tell Captain Shagrat that the great Elf-warrior
has called, with his elf-sword too!’

There was no answer. Sam strode forward. Sting glittered blue in his hand.
The courtyard lay in deep shadow, but he could see that the pavement was strewn
with bodies. Right at his feet were two orc-archers with knives sticking in
their backs. Beyond lay many more shapes; some singly as they had been hewn down
or shot; others in pairs, still grappling one another, dead in the very throes
of stabbing, throttling, biting. The stones were slippery with dark blood.

Two liveries Sam noticed, one marked by the Red Eye, the other by a Moon
disfigured with a ghastly face of death; but he did not stop to look more
closely. Across the court a great door at the foot of the Tower stood half open,
and a red light came through; a large orc lay dead upon the threshold. Sam
sprang over the body and went in; and then he peered about at a loss.

A wide and echoing passage led back from the door towards the mountain-side.
It was dimly lit with torches flaring in brackets on the walls, but its distant
end was lost in gloom. Many doors and openings could be seen on this side and
that; but it was empty save for two or three more bodies sprawling on the floor.
From what he had heard of the captains’ talk Sam knew that, dead or alive,
Frodo would most likely be found in a chamber high up in the turret far above;
but he might search for a day before he found the way.

He advanced down the passage, but slowly now, each step more reluctant.
Terror was beginning to grip him again. There was no sound save the rap of his
feet, which seemed to grow to an echoing noise, like the slapping of great hands
upon the stones. The dead bodies: the emptiness; the dank black walls that in
the torchlight seemed to drip with blood; the fear of sudden death lurking in
doorway or shadow; and behind all his mind the waiting watchful malice at the
gate: it was almost more than he could screw himself to face. He would have
welcomed a fight-with not too many enemies at a time - rather than this hideous
brooding uncertainty. He forced himself to think of Frodo, lying bound or in
pain or dead somewhere in this dreadful place. He went on.

He had passed beyond the torchlight, almost to a great arched door at the end
of the passage, the inner side of the under gate, as he rightly guessed, when
there came from high above a dreadful choking shriek. He stopped short. Then he
heard feet coming. Someone was running in great haste down an echoing stairway
overhead.

His will was too weak and slow to restrain his hand. It dragged at the chain
and clutched the Ring. But Sam did not put it on; for even as he clasped it to
his breast, an orc came clattering down. Leaping out of a dark opening at the
right, it ran towards him. It was no more than six paces from him when, lifting
its head, it saw him; and Sam could hear its gasping breath and see the glare in
its bloodshot eyes. It stopped short aghast. For what it saw was not a small
frightened hobbit trying to hold a steady sword: it saw a great silent shape,
cloaked in a grey shadow, looming against the wavering light behind; in one hand
it held a sword, the very light of which was a bitter pain, the other was
clutched at its breast, but held concealed some nameless menace of power and
doom.

For a moment the orc crouched, and then with a hideous yelp of fear it turned
and fled back as it had come. Never was any dog more heartened when its enemy
turned tail than Sam at this unexpected flight. With a shout he gave chase.

`Yes! The Elf-warrior is loose!’ he cried. ‘I’m coming. Just you show
me the way up, or I’ll skin you!’

But the orc was in its own haunts, nimble and well-fed. Sam was a stranger,
hungry and weary. The stairs were high and steep and winding. Sam’s breath
began to come in gasps. The orc had soon passed out of sight, and now only
faintly could be heard the slapping of its feet as it went on and up. Every now
and again it gave a yell, and the echo ran along the walls. But slowly all sound
of it died away.

Sam plodded on. He felt that he was on the right road, and his spirits had
risen a good deal. He thrust the Ring away and tightened his belt. `Well,
well!’ he said. `If only they all take such a dislike to me and my Sting, this
may turn out better than I hoped. And anyway it looks as if Shagrat, Gorbag, and
company have done nearly all my job for me. Except for that little frightened
rat, I do believe there’s nobody left alive in the place!’

And with that he stopped, brought up hard, as if he had hit his head against
the stone wall. The full meaning of what he had said struck him like a blow.
Nobody left alive! Whose had been that horrible dying shriek? `Frodo, Frodo!
Master!’ he cried half sobbing. ‘If they’ve killed you, what shall I do?
Well, I’m coming at last, right to the top, to see what I must.’

Up, up he went. It was dark save for an occasional torch flaring at a turn, or
beside some opening that led into the higher levels of the Tower. Sam tried to
count the steps, but after two hundred he lost his reckoning. He was moving
quietly now: for he thought that he could hear the sound of voices talking,
still some way above. More than one rat remained alive, it seemed.

All at once, when he felt that he could pump out no more breath, nor force
his knees to bend again, the stair ended. He stood still. The voices were now
loud and near. Sam peered about. He had climbed right to the flat roof of the
third and highest tier of the Tower: an open space, about twenty yards across,
with a low parapet. There the stair was covered by a small domed chamber in the
midst of the roof, with low doors facing east and west. Eastward Sam could see
the plain of Mordor vast and dark below, and the burning mountain far away. A
fresh turmoil was surging in its deep wells, and the rivers of fire blazed so
fiercely that even at this distance of many miles the light of them lit the
tower-top with a red glare. Westward the view was blocked by the base of the
great turret that stood at the back of this upper court and reared its horn high
above the crest of the encircling hills. Light gleamed in a window-slit. Its
door was not ten yards from where Sam stood. It was open but dark, and from just
within its shadow the voices came.

At first Sam did not listen; he took a pace out of the eastward door and
looked about. At once he saw that up here the fighting had been fiercest. All
the court was choked with dead orcs or their severed and scattered heads and
limbs. The place stank of death. A snarl followed by a blow and a cry sent him
darting back into hiding. An orc-voice rose in anger, and he knew it again at
once, harsh, brutal, cold. It was Shagrat speaking, Captain of the Tower.

`You won’t go again, you say? Curse you, Snaga, you little maggot! If you
think I’m so damaged that it’s safe to flout me, you’re mistaken Come
here, and I’ll squeeze your eyes out, like I did to Radbug just now. And when
some new lads come, I’ll deal with you: I’ll send you to Shelob.’

`They won’t come, not before you’re dead anyway,’ answered Snaga
surlily. ‘I’ve told you twice that Gorbag’s swine got to the gate first,
and none of ours got out. Lagduf and Muzgash ran through, but they were shot. I
saw it from a window, I tell you. And they were the last.’

‘Then you must go. I must stay here anyway. But I’m hurt. The Black Pits
take that filthy rebel Gorbag!’ Shagrat’s voice trailed off into a
string of foul names and curses. `I gave him better than I got, but he knifed
me, the dung, before I throttled him. You must go, or I’ll eat you. News must
get through to Lugbúrz, or we’ll both be for the Black Pits. Yes, you
too. You won’t escape by skulking here.’

`I’m not going down those stairs again,’ growled Snaga, `be you captain
or no. Nar! Keep your hands off your knife, or I’ll put an arrow in your guts.
You won’t be a captain long when They hear about all these goings-on. I’ve
fought for the Tower against those stinking Morgul-rats, but a nice mess you two
precious captains have made of things, fighting over the swag.’

‘That’s enough from you,’ snarled Shagrat. `I had my orders. It was
Gorbag started it, trying to pinch that pretty shirt.’

`Well, you put his back up, being so high and mighty. And he had more sense
than you anyway. He told you more than once that the most dangerous of these
spies was still loose, and you wouldn’t listen. And you won’t listen now.
Gorbag was right, I tell you. There’s a great fighter about, one of those
bloody-handed Elves, or one of the filthy tarks.1 He’s coming here, I
tell you. You heard the bell. He’s got past the Watchers, and that’s tark’s
work. He’s on the stairs. And until he’s off them, I’m not going down.
Not if you were a Nazgûl, I wouldn’t.’

`So that’s it, is it?’ yelled Shagrat. ‘You’ll do this, and you’ll
not do that? And when he does come, you’ll bolt and leave me? No, you won’t!
I’ll put red maggot-holes in your belly first.’

Out of the turret-door the smaller orc came flying. Behind him came Shagrat,
a large orc with long arms that, as he ran crouching, reached to the ground. But
one arm hung limp and seemed to be bleeding; the other hugged a large black
bundle. In the red glare Sam, cowering behind the stair-door, caught a glimpse
of his evil face as it passed: it was scored as if by rending claws and smeared
with blood; slaver dripped from its protruding fangs; the mouth snarled like an
animal.

As far as Sam could see, Shagrat hunted Snaga round the roof, until ducking
and eluding him the smaller orc with a yelp darted back into the turret and
disappeared. Then Shagrat halted. Out of the eastward door Sam could see him now
by the parapet, panting, his left claw clenching and unclenching feebly. He put
the bundle on the floor and with his right claw drew out a long red knife and
spat on it. Going to the parapet he leaned over, looking down into the outer
court far below. Twice he shouted but no answer came.

Suddenly, as Shagrat was stooped over the battlement, his back to the
roof-top, Sam to his amazement saw that one of the sprawling bodies was moving.
It was crawling. It put out a claw and clutched the bundle. It staggered up. In
its other hand it held a broad-headed spear with a short broken haft. It was
poised for a stabbing thrust. But at that very moment a hiss escaped its teeth,
a gasp of pain or hate. Quick as a snake Shagrat slipped aside, twisted round,
and drove his knife into his enemy’s throat.

`Got you, Gorbag!’ he cried. ‘Not quite dead, eh? Well, I’ll finish my
job now.’ He sprang on to the fallen body, and stamped and trampled it in his
fury, stooping now and again to stab and slash it with his knife. Satisfied at
last, he threw back his head and let out a horrible gurgling yell of triumph.
Then he licked his knife, and put it between his teeth, and catching up the
bundle he came loping towards the near door of the stairs.

Sam had no time to think. He might have slipped out of the other door, but
hardly without being seen; and he could not have played hide-and-seek with this
hideous orc for long. He did what was probably the best thing he could have
done. He sprang out to meet Shagrat with a shout. He was no longer holding the
Ring, but it was there, a hidden power, a cowing menace to the slaves of Mordor;
and in his hand was Sting, and its light smote the eyes of the orc like the
glitter of cruel stars in the terrible elf-countries, the dream of which was a
cold fear to all his kind. And Shagrat could not both fight and keep hold of his
treasure. He stopped, growling, baring his fangs. Then once more, orc-fashion,
he leapt aside, and as Sam sprang at him, using the heavy bundle as both shield
and weapon, he thrust it hard into his enemy’s face. Sam staggered, and before
he could recover, Shagrat darted past and down the stairs.

Sam ran after him, cursing, but he did not go far. Soon the thought of Frodo
returned to him, and he remembered that the other orc had gone back into the
turret. Here was another dreadful choice, and he had no time to ponder it. If
Shagrat got away, he would soon get help and come back. But if Sam pursued him,
the other orc might do some horrible deed up there. And anyway Sam might miss
Shagrat or be killed by him. He turned quickly and ran back up the stairs.
`Wrong again, I expect,’ he sighed. `But it’s my job to go right up to the
top first, whatever happens afterwards.’

Away below Shagrat went leaping down the stairs and out over the court and
through the gate, bearing his precious burden. If Sam could have seen him and
known the grief that his escape would bring, he might have quailed. But now his
mind was set on the last stage of his search. He came cautiously to the
turret-door and stepped inside. It opened into darkness. But soon his staring
eyes were aware of a dim light at his right hand. It came from an opening that
led to another stairway, dark and narrow: it appeared to go winding up the
turret along the inside of its round outer wall. A torch was glimmering from
somewhere up above.

Softly Sam began to climb. He came to the guttering torch, fixed above a door
on his left that faced a window-slit looking out westward: one of the red eyes
that he and Frodo had seen from down below by the tunnel’s mouth. Quickly Sam
passed the door and hurried on to the second storey, dreading at any moment to
he attacked and to feel throttling fingers seize his throat from behind. He came
next to a window looking east and another torch above the door to a passage
through the middle of the turret. The door was open, the passage dark save for
the glimmer of the torch and the red glare from outside filtering through the
window-slit. But here the stair stopped and climbed no further. Sam crept into
the passage. On either side there was a low door; both were closed and locked.
There was no sound at all.

`A dead end,’ muttered Sam; `and after all my climb! This can’t be the
top of the tower. But what can I do now?’

He ran back to the lower storey and tried the door. It would not move. He ran
up again, and sweat began to trickle down his face. He felt that even minutes
were precious, but one by one they escaped; and he could do nothing. He cared no
longer for Shagrat or Snaga or any other orc that was ever spawned. He longed
only for his master, for one sight of his face or one touch of his hand.

At last, weary and feeling finally defeated, he sat on a step below the level
of the passage-floor and bowed his head into his hands. It was quiet, horribly
quiet. The torch, that was already burning low when he arrived, sputtered and
went out; and he felt the darkness cover him like a tide. And then softly, to
his own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved
by what thought in his heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing.

His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower: the voice of a
forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the
clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire,
and snatches of Mr. Bilbo’s rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting
glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him,
and his voice rang out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple
tune.

In western lands beneath the Sun

the flowers may rise in Spring,

the trees may bud, the waters run,

the merry finches sing.

Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night

and swaying beeches bear

the Elven-stars as jewels white

amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey’s end I lie

in darkness buried deep,

beyond all towers strong and high,

beyond all mountains steep,

above all shadows rides the Sun

and Stars for ever dwell:

I will not say the Day is done,

nor bid the Stars farewell.

`Beyond all towers strong and high,’ he began again, and then he stopped
short. He thought that he had heard a faint voice answering him. But now he
could hear nothing. Yes, he could hear something, but not a voice. Footsteps
were approaching. Now a door was being opened quietly in the passage above; the
hinges creaked. Sam crouched down listening. The door closed with a dull thud;
and then a snarling orc-voice rang out.

‘Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I’ll come
and deal with you. D’you hear?’

There was no answer.

‘All right,’ growled Snaga. `But I’ll come and have a look at you all
the same, and see what you’re up to.’

The hinges creaked again, and Sam, now peering over the corner of the
passage-threshold, saw a flicker of light in an open doorway, and the dim shape
of an orc coming out. He seemed to be carrying a ladder. Suddenly the answer
dawned on Sam: the topmost chamber was reached by a trap-door in the roof of the
passage. Snaga thrust the ladder upwards, steadied it, and then clambered out of
sight. Sam heard a bolt drawn back. Then he heard the hideous voice speaking
again.

`You lie quiet, or you’ll pay for it! You’ve not got long to live in
peace, I guess; but if you don’t want the fun to begin right now, keep your
trap shut, see? There’s a reminder for you!’ There was a sound like the
crack of a whip.

At that rage blazed in Sam’s heart to a sudden fury. He sprang up, ran, and
went up the ladder like a cat. His head came out in the middle of the floor of a
large round chamber. A red lamp hung from its roof; the westward window-slit was
high and dark. Something was lying on the floor by the wall under the window,
but over it a black orc-shape was straddled. It raised a whip a second time, but
the blow never fell.

With a cry Sam leapt across the floor, Sting in hand. The orc wheeled round,
but before it could make a move Sam slashed its whip-hand from its arm. Howling
with pain and fear but desperate the orc charged head-down at him. Sam’s next
blow went wide, and thrown off his balance he fell backwards, clutching at the
orc as it stumbled over him. Before he could scramble up he heard a cry and a
thud. The orc in its wild haste had tripped on the ladder-head and fallen
through the open trap-door. Sam gave no more thought to it. He ran to the figure
huddled on the floor. It was Frodo.

He was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung
up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.

`Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear!’ cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. `It’s
Sam, I’ve come!’ He half lifted his master and hugged him to his breast.
Frodo opened his eyes.

`Am I still dreaming?’ he muttered. `But the other dreams were horrible.’

`I can hardly believe it,’ said Frodo, clutching him. `There was an orc
with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when
I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?’

Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam, said Frodo, and he la back in Sam’s
gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven
away by some loved voice or hand.

Sam felt that he could sit like that in endless happiness; but it was not
allowed. It was not enough for him to find his master, he had still to try and
save him. He kissed Frodo’s forehead. `Come! Wake up Mr. Frodo!’ he said,
trying to sound as cheerful as he had when he drew back the curtains at Bag End
on a summer’s morning.

Frodo sighed and sat up. `Where are we? How did I get here?’ he asked.

‘There’s no time for tales till we get somewhere else, Mr. Frodo,’ said
Sam. `But you’re in the top of that tower you and me saw from away down by the
tunnel before the orcs got you. How long ago that was I don’t know. More than
a day, I guess.’

`Only that?’ said Frodo. `It seems weeks. You must tell me all about it, if
we get a chance. Something hit me, didn’t it? And I fell into darkness and
foul dreams, and woke and found that waking was worse. Orcs were all round me. I
think they had just been pouring some horrible burning drink down my throat. My
head grew clear, but I was aching and weary. They stripped me of everything; and
then two great brutes came and questioned me, questioned me until I thought I
should go mad, standing over me, gloating, fingering their knives. I’ll never
forget their claws and eyes.’

`You won’t, if you talk about them, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘And if we
don’t want to see them again, the sooner we get going the better. Can you
walk?’

`Yes, I can walk,’ said Frodo, getting up slowly. ‘I am not hurt Sam.
Only I feel very tired, and I’ve a pain here.’ He put his hand to the back
of his neck above his left shoulder. He stood up, and it looked to Sam as if he
was clothed in flame: his naked skin was scarlet in the light of the lamp above.
Twice he paced across the floor.

`That’s better!’ he said, his spirits rising a little. `I didn’t dare
to move when I was left alone, or one of the guards came. Until the yelling and
fighting began. The two big brutes: they quarrelled, I think. Over me and my
things. I lay here terrified. And then all went deadly quiet, and that was
worse.’

`Yes, they quarrelled, seemingly,’ said Sam. ‘There must have been a
couple of hundred of the dirty creatures in this place. A bit of a tall order
for Sam Gamgee, as you might say. But they’ve done all the killing of
themselves. That’s lucky, but it’s too long to make a song about, till
we’re out of here. Now what’s to be done? You can’t go walking in the
Black Land in naught but your skin, Mr. Frodo.’

`They’ve taken everything, Sam,’ said Frodo. `Everything I had. Do you
understand? Everything!’ He cowered on the floor again with bowed head,
as his own words brought home to him the fullness of the disaster, and despair
overwhelmed him. ‘The quest has failed Sam. Even if we get out of here, we
can’t escape. Only Elves can escape. Away, away out of Middle-earth, far away
over the Sea. If even that is wide enough to keep the Shadow out.’

`No, not everything, Mr. Frodo. And it hasn’t failed, not yet. I
took it, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. And I’ve kept it safe. It’s round
my neck now, and a terrible burden it is, too.’ Sam fumbled for the Ring and
its chain. `But I suppose you must take it back.’ Now it had come to it, Sam
felt reluctant to give up the Ring and burden his master with it again.

`You’ve got it?’ gasped Frodo. `You’ve got it here? Sam, you’re a
marvel!’ Then quickly and strangely his tone changed. `Give it to me!’ he
cried, standing up, holding out a trembling hand. `Give it me at once! You
can’t have it!’

‘All right, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam, rather startled. ‘Here it is!’
Slowly he drew the Ring out and passed the chain over his head. `But you’re in
the land of Mordor now, sir; and when you get out, you’ll see the Fiery
Mountain and all. You’ll find the Ring very dangerous now, and very hard to
bear. If it’s too hard a job, I could share it with you, maybe?’

`No, no!’ cried Frodo, snatching the Ring and chain from Sam’s hands. `No
you won’t, you thief!’ He panted, staring at Sam with eyes wide with fear
and enmity. Then suddenly, clasping the Ring in one clenched fist, he stood
aghast. A mist seemed to clear from his eyes, and he passed a hand over his
aching brow. The hideous vision had seemed so real to him, half bemused as he
was still with wound and fear. Sam had changed before his very eyes into an orc
again, leering and pawing at his treasure, a foul little creature with greedy
eyes and slobbering mouth. But now the vision had passed. There was Sam kneeling
before him, his face wrung with pain, as if he had been stabbed in the heart;
tears welled from his eyes.

‘O Sam!’ cried Frodo. `What have I said? What have I done? Forgive me!
After all you have done. It is the horrible power of the Ring. I wish it had
never, never, been found. But don’t mind me, Sam. I must carry the burden to
the end. It can’t be altered. You can’t come between me and this doom.’

‘That’s all right, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam, rubbing his sleeve across his
eyes. `I understand. But I can still help, can’t I? I’ve got to get you out
of here. At once, see! But first you want some clothes and gear and then some
food. The clothes will be the easiest part. As we’re in Mordor, we’d, best
dress up Mordor-fashion; and anyway there isn’t no choice. It’ll have to be
orc-stuff for you, Mr. Frodo, I’m afraid. And for me too. If we go together,
we’d best match. Now put this round you!’

Sam unclasped his grey cloak and cast it about Frodo’s shoulders. Then
unslinging his pack he laid it on the floor. He drew Sting from its sheath.
Hardly a flicker was to be seen upon its blade. `I was forgetting this, Mr.
Frodo,’ he said. `No, they didn’t get everything! You lent me Sting, if you
remember, and the Lady’s glass. I’ve got them both still. But lend them to
me a little longer, Mr. Frodo. I must go and see what I can find. You stay here.
Walk about a bit and ease your legs. I shan’t be long. I shan’t have to go
far.’

`Take care, Sam!’ said Frodo. `And be quick! There may be orcs still alive,
lurking in wait.’

‘I’ve got to chance it,’ said Sam. He stepped to the trap-door and
slipped down the ladder. In a minute his head reappeared. He threw a long knife
on the floor.

`There’s something that might be useful,’ he said. ‘He’s dead: the
one that whipped you. Broke his neck, it seems, in his hurry. Now you draw up
the ladder, if you can, Mr. Frodo; and don’t you let it down till you hear me
call the password. Elbereth I’ll call. What the Elves say. No orc would
say that.’

Frodo sat for a while and shivered, dreadful fears chasing one another through
his mind. Then he got up, drew the grey elven-cloak about him, and to keep his
mind occupied, began to walk to and fro, prying and peering into every corner of
his prison.

It was not very long, though fear made it seem an hour at least, before he
heard Sam’s voice calling softly from below: Elbereth, Elbereth. Frodo
let down the light ladder. Up came Sam, puffing, heaving a great bundle on his
head. He let it fall with a thud.

`Quick now. Mr. Frodo!’ he said. `I’ve had a bit of a search to find
anything small enough for the likes of us. We’ll have to make do. But we must
hurry. I’ve met nothing alive, and I’ve seen nothing but I’m not easy. I
think this place is being watched. I can’t explain it, but well: it feels to
me as if one of those foul flying Riders was about, up in the blackness where he
can’t be seen.’

He opened the bundle. Frodo looked in disgust at the contents, but there was
nothing for it: he had to put the things on, or go naked. There were long hairy
breeches of some unclean beast-fell, and a tunic of dirty leather. He drew them
on. Over the tunic went a coat of stout ring-mail, short for a full-sized orc,
too long for Frodo and heavy. About it he clasped a belt, at which there hung a
short sheath holding a broad-bladed stabbing-sword. Sam had brought several
orc-helmets. One of them fitted Frodo well enough, a black cap with iron rim,
and iron hoops covered with leather upon which the evil Eye was painted in red
above the beaklike nose-guard.

`The Morgul-stuff, Gorbag’s gear, was a better fit and better made,’ said
Sam; `but it wouldn’t do, I guess, to go carrying his tokens into Mordor, not
after this business here. Well, there you are, Mr. Frodo. A perfect little orc,
if I may make so bold-at least you would be, if we could cover your face with a
mask, give you longer arms, and make you bow-legged. This will hide some of the
tell-tales.’ He put a large black cloak round Frodo’s shoulders. `Now
you’re ready! You can pick up a shield as we go.’

‘What about you, Sam?’ said Frodo. `Aren’t we going to match?’

`Well, Mr. Frodo, I’ve been thinking,’ said Sam. ‘I’d best not leave
any of my stuff behind, and we can’t destroy it. And I can’t wear orc-mail
over all my clothes, can I? I’ll just have to cover up.’

He knelt down and carefully folded his elven-cloak. It went into a
surprisingly small roll. This he put into his pack that lay on the floor.
Standing up, he slung it behind his back, put an orc-helm on his head, and cast
another black cloak about his shoulders. `There!’ he said. `Now we match, near
enough. And now we must be off!’

‘I can’t go all the way at a run, Sam,’ said Frodo with a wry smile.
‘I hope you’ve made inquiries about inns along the road? Or have you
forgotten about food and drink?’

`Save me, but so I had!’ said Sam. He whistled in dismay. ‘Bless me, Mr.
Frodo, but you’ve gone and made me that hungry and thirsty! I don’t know
when drop or morsel last passed my lips. I’d forgotten it, trying to find you.
But let me think! Last time I looked I’d got about enough of that waybread,
and of what Captain Faramir gave us, to keep me on my legs for a couple of weeks
at a pinch. But if there’s a drop left in my bottle, there’s no more.
That’s not going to be enough for two, nohow. Don’t ores eat, and don’t
they drink? Or do they just live on foul air and poison?’

`No, they eat and drink, Sam. The Shadow that bred them can only mock, it
cannot make: not real new things of its own. I don’t think it gave life to the
ores, it only ruined them and twisted them; and if they are to live at all, they
have to live like other living creatures. Foul waters and foul meats they’ll
take, if they can get no better, but not poison. They’ve fed me, and so I’m
better off than you. There must be food and water somewhere in this place.’
`But there’s no time to look for them,’ said Sam.

`Well, things are a bit better than you think,’ said Frodo. ‘I have had a
bit of luck while you were away. Indeed they did not take everything. I’ve
found my food-bag among some rags on the floor. They’ve rummaged it, of
course. But I guess they disliked the very look and smell of the lembas,
worse than Gollum did. It’s scattered about and some of it is trampled and
broken, but I’ve gathered it together. It’s not far short of what you’ve
got. But they’ve taken Faramir’s food, and they’ve slashed up my
water-bottle.’

`Well, there’s no more to be said,’ said Sam. `We’ve got enough to
start on. But the water’s going to be a bad business. But come Mr. Frodo! Off
we go, or a whole lake of it won’t do us any good!’

‘Not till you’ve had a mouthful, Sam,’ said Frodo. `I won’t budge.
Here, take this elven-cake, and drink that last drop in your bottle! The whole
thing is quite hopeless, so it’s no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably
won’t come.’

At last they started. Down the ladder they climbed, and then Sam took it and
laid it in the passage beside the huddled body of the fallen orc. The stair was
dark, but on the roof-top the glare of the Mountain could still be seen, though
it was dying down now to a sullen red. They picked up two shields to complete
their disguise and then went on.

Down the great stairway they plodded. The high chamber of the turret behind,
where they had met again, seemed almost homely: they were out in the open again
now, and terror ran along the walls. All might be dead in the Tower of Cirith
Ungol, but it was steeped in fear and evil still.

At length they came to the door upon the outer court, and they halted. Even
from where they stood they felt the malice of the Watchers beating on them,
black silent shapes on either side of the gate through which the glare of Mordor
dimly showed. As they threaded their way among the hideous bodies of the ores
each step became more difficult. Before they even reached the archway they were
brought to a stand. To move an inch further was a pain and weariness to will and
limb.

Frodo had no strength for such a battle. He sank to the ground. `I can’t go
on, Sam,’ he murmured. `I’m going to faint. I don’t know what’s come
over me.’

`I do, Mr. Frodo. Hold up now! It’s the gate. There’s some devilry there.
But I got through, and I’m going to get out. It can’t be more dangerous than
before. Now for it!’

Sam drew out the elven-glass of Galadriel again. As if to do honour to his
hardihood, and to grace with splendour his faithful brown hobbit-hand that had
done such deeds, the phial blazed forth suddenly, so that all the shadowy court
was lit with a dazzling radiance like lightning; but it remained steady and did
not pass.

‘Gilthoniel, A Elbereth!’ Sam cried. For, why he did not know, his
thought sprang back suddenly to the Elves in the Shire, and the song that drove
away the Black Rider in the trees.

‘Aiya elenion ancalima!’ cried Frodo once again behind him.

The will of the Watchers was broken with a suddenness like the snapping of a
cord, and Frodo and Sam stumbled forward. Then they ran. Through the gate and
past the great seated figures with their glittering eyes. There was a crack. The
keystone of the arch crashed almost on their heels, and the wall above crumbled,
and fell in ruin. Only by a hair did they escape. A bell clanged; and from the
Watchers there went up a high and dreadful wail. Far up above in the darkness it
was answered. Out of the black sky there came dropping like a bolt a winged
shape, rending the clouds with a ghastly shriek.

Chapter 2

The Land of Shadow

Sam had just wits enough left to thrust the phial back into his breast.
‘Run, Mr. Frodo!’ he cried. ‘No, not that way! There’s a sheer drop over
the wall. Follow me!’

Down the road from the gate they fled. In fifty paces, with a swift bend
round a jutting bastion of the cliff, it took them out of sight from the Tower.
They had escaped for the moment. Cowering back against the rock they drew
breath, and then they clutched at their hearts. Perching now on the wall beside
the ruined gate the Nazgûl sent out its deadly cries. All the cliffs
echoed.

In terror they stumbled on. Soon the road bent sharply eastward again and
exposed them for a dreadful moment to view from the Tower. As they flitted
across they glanced back and saw the great black shape upon the battlement; then
they plunged down between high rock-walls in a cutting that fell steeply to join
the Morgul-road. They came to the way-meeting. There was still no sign of orcs,
nor of an answer to the cry of the Nazgûl;
but they knew that the silence would not last long. At any moment now the hunt
would begin.

‘This won’t do, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘If we were real orcs, we ought to
be dashing back to the Tower, not running away. The first enemy we meet will
know us. We must get off this road somehow.’

‘But we can’t,’ said Sam, ‘not without wings.’

The eastern faces of the Ephel Dúath were sheer, falling in cliff and
precipice to the black trough that lay between them and the inner ridge. A short
way beyond the way-meeting, after another steep incline, a flying bridge
of stone leapt over the chasm and bore the road across into the tumbled slopes
and glens of the Morgai. With a desperate spurt Frodo and Sam dashed along the
bridge; but they had hardly reached its further end when they heard the hue and
cry begin. Away behind them, now high above on the mountain-side, loomed the
Tower of Cirith Ungol, its stones glowing dully. Suddenly its harsh bell clanged
again, and then broke into a shattering peal. Horns sounded. And now from beyond
the bridge-end came answering cries. Down in the dark trough, cut off from the
dying glare of Orodruin, Frodo and Sam could not see ahead, but already they
heard the tramp of iron-shod feet, and upon the road there rang the swift
clatter of hoofs.

‘Quick, Sam! Over we go!’ cried Frodo. They scrambled on to the low
parapet of the bridge. Fortunately there was no longer any dreadful drop into
the gulf, for the slopes of the Morgai had already risen almost to the level of
the road; but it was too dark for them to guess the depth of the fall.

‘Well, here goes, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’

He let go. Frodo followed. And even as they fell they heard the rush of
horsemen sweeping over the bridge and the rattle of orc-feet running up behind.
But Sam would have laughed, if he had dared. Half fearing a breaking plunge down
on to unseen rocks the hobbits landed, in a drop of no more than a dozen feet,
with a thud and a crunch into the last thing that they had expected: a tangle of
thorny bushes. There Sam lay still, softly sucking a scratched hand.

When the sound of hoof and foot had passed he ventured a whisper. ‘Bless
me, Mr. Frodo, but I didn’t know as anything grew in Mordor! But if I had
a’known, this is just what I’d have looked for. These thorns must be a foot
long by the feel of them; they’ve stuck through everything I’ve got on. Wish
I’d a’put that mail-shirt on!’

‘Orc-mail doesn’t keep these thorns out,’ said Frodo. ‘Not even a
leather jerkin is any good.’

They had a struggle to get out of the thicket. The thorns and briars were as
tough as wire and as clinging as claws. Their cloaks were rent and tattered
before they broke free at last.

‘Now down we go, Sam,’ Frodo whispered. ‘Down into the valley quick,
and then turn northward, as soon as ever we can.’

Day was coming again in the world outside, and far beyond the glooms of
Mordor the Sun was climbing over the eastern rim of Middle-earth; but here all
was still dark as night. The Mountain smouldered and its fires went out. The
glare faded from the cliffs. The easterly wind that had been blowing ever since
they left Ithilien now seemed dead. Slowly and painfully they clambered down,
groping, stumbling, scrambling among rock and briar and dead wood in the blind
shadows, down and down until they could go no further.

At length they stopped, and sat side by side, their backs against a boulder.
Both were sweating. ‘If Shagrat himself was to offer me a glass of water,
I’d shake his hand,’ said Sam.

‘Don’t say such things!’ said Frodo. ‘It only makes it worse.’ Then
he stretched himself out, dizzy and weary, and he spoke no more for a while. At
last with a struggle he got up again. To his amazement he found that Sam was
asleep. ‘Wake up, Sam!’ he said. ‘Come on! It’s time we made another
effort.’

Sam scrambled to his feet. ‘Well I never!’ he said. ‘I must have
dropped off. It’s a long time, Mr. Frodo, since I had a proper sleep, and my
eyes just closed down on their own.’

Frodo now led the way, northward as near as he could guess, among the stones
and boulders lying thick at the bottom of the great ravine. But presently he
stopped again.

‘It’s no good, Sam,’ he said. ‘I can’t manage it. This mail-shirt,
I mean. Not in my present state. Even my mithril-coat seemed heavy when I was
tired. This is far heavier. And what’s the use of it? We shan’t win through
by fighting.’

‘But we may have some to do,’ said Sam. ‘And there’s knives and stray
arrows. That Gollum isn’t dead, for one thing. I don’t like to think of you
with naught but a bit of leather between you and a stab in the dark.’

‘Look here, Sam dear lad,’ said Frodo: ‘I am tired, weary, I haven’t
a hope left. But I have to go on trying to get to the Mountain, as long as I can
move. The Ring is enough. This extra weight is killing me. It must go. But
don’t think I’m ungrateful. I hate to think of the foul work you must have
had among the bodies to find it for me.’

Frodo laid aside his cloak and took off the orc-mail and flung it away. He
shivered a little. ‘What I really need is something warm,’ he said.
‘It’s gone cold, or else I’ve caught a chill.’

‘You can have my cloak, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. He unslung his pack and
took out the elven-cloak. ‘How’s this, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘You wrap
that orc-rag close round you, and put the belt outside it. Then this can go over
all. It don’t look quite orc-fashion, but it’ll keep you warmer; and I
daresay it’ll keep you from harm better than any other gear. It was made by
the Lady.’

Frodo took the cloak and fastened the brooch. ‘That’s better!’ he said.
‘I feel much lighter. I can go on now. But this blind dark seems to be getting
into my heart. As I lay in prison, Sam. I tried to remember the Brandywine, and
Woody End, and The Water running through the mill at Hobbiton. But I can’t see
them now.’

‘There now, Mr. Frodo, it’s you that’s talking of water this time!’
said Sam. ‘If only the Lady could see us or hear us, I’d say to her: “Your
Ladyship, all we want is light and water: just clean water and plain daylight,
better than any jewels, begging your pardon.” But
it’s a long way to Lórien.’ Sam sighed and waved his hand towards the
heights of the Ephel Dúath, now only to be guessed as a deeper blackness
against the black sky.

They started off again. They had not gone far when Frodo paused. ‘There’s a
Black Rider over us,’ he said. ‘I can feel it. We had better keep still for
a while.’

Crouched under a great boulder they sat facing back westward and did not
speak for some time. Then Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It’s passed,’
he said. They stood up, and then they both stared in wonder. Away to their left,
southward, against a sky that was turning grey, the peaks and high ridges of the
great range began to appear dark and black, visible shapes. Light was growing
behind them. Slowly it crept towards the North. There was battle far above in
the high spaces of the air. The billowing clouds of Mordor were being driven
back, their edges tattering as a wind out of the living world came up and swept
the fumes and smokes towards the dark land of their home. Under the lifting
skirts of the dreary canopy dim light leaked into Mordor like pale morning
through the grimed window of a prison.

‘Look at it, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam. ‘Look at it! The wind’s changed.
Something’s happening. He’s not having it all his own way. His darkness is
breaking up out in the world there. I wish I could see what is going on!’

It was the morning of the fifteenth of March, and over the Vale of Anduin the
Sun was rising above the eastern shadow, and the
south-west wind was blowing. Théoden lay dying on the Pelennor Fields.

As Frodo and Sam stood and gazed, the rim of light spread all along the line
of the Ephel Dúath, and then they saw a shape, moving at a great speed
out of the West, at first only a black speck against the glimmering strip above
the mountain-tops, but growing, until it plunged like a bolt into the dark
canopy and passed high above them. As it went it sent out a long shrill cry, the
voice of a Nazgûl; but this cry no longer held any terror for them:
it was a cry of woe and dismay, ill tidings for the Dark Tower. The Lord of the
Ring-wraiths had met his doom.

‘What did I tell you? Something’s happening!’ cried Sam.’ “The
war’s going well,” said Shagrat; but Gorbag he wasn’t so sure. And he was
right there too. Things are looking up, Mr. Frodo. Haven’t you got some hope
now?’

‘Well no, not much, Sam,’ Frodo sighed. ‘That’s away beyond the
mountains. We’re going east not west. And I’m so tired. And the Ring is so
heavy, Sam. And I begin to see it in my mind all the time, like a great wheel of
fire.’

Sam’s quick spirits sank again at once. He looked at his master anxiously,
and he took his hand. ‘Come, Mr. Frodo!’ he said. ‘I’ve got one thing I
wanted: a bit of light. Enough to help us, and yet I guess it’s dangerous too.
Try a bit further, and then we’ll lie close and have a rest. But take a morsel
to eat now, a bit of the Elves’ food; it may hearten you.’

Sharing a wafer of lembas, and munching it as best they could with
their parched mouths. Frodo and Sam plodded on. The light, though no more than a
grey dusk, was now enough for them to see that they were deep in the valley
between the mountains. It sloped up gently northward, and at its bottom went the
bed of a now dry and withered stream. Beyond its stony course they saw a beaten
path that wound its way under the feet of the westward cliffs. Had they known,
they could have reached it quicker, for it was a track that left the main
Morgul-road at the western bridge-end and went down by a long stair cut in the
rock to the valley’s bottom. It was used by patrols or by messengers going
swiftly to lesser posts and strongholds north-away, between Cirith Ungol and the
narrows of Isenmouthe, the iron jaws of Carach Angren.

It was perilous for the hobbits to use such a path, but they needed speed,
and Frodo felt that he could not face the toil of scrambling among the boulders
or in the trackless glens of the Morgai. And he judged that northward was,
maybe, the way that their hunters would least expect them to take. The road east
to the plain, or the pass back westward, those they would first search most
thoroughly. Only when he was well north of the Tower did he mean to turn and
seek for some way to take him east, east on the last desperate stage of his
journey. So now they crossed the stony bed and took to the orc-path, and for
some time they marched along it. The cliffs at their left were overhung, and
they could not be seen from above; but the path made many bends, and at each
bend they gripped their sword-hilts and went forward cautiously.

The light grew no stronger, for Orodruin was still belching forth a great
fume that, beaten upwards by the opposing airs, mounted higher and higher, until
it reached a region above the wind and spread in an immeasurable roof, whose
central pillar rose out of the shadows beyond their view. They had trudged for
more than an hour when they heard a sound that brought them to a halt.
Unbelievable, but unmistakable. Water trickling. Out of a gully on the left, so
sharp and narrow that it looked as if the black cliff had been cloven by some
huge axe, water came dripping down: the last remains, maybe, of some sweet rain
gathered from sunlit seas, but ill-fated to fall at last upon the walls of the
Black Land and wander fruitless down into the dust. Here it came out of the rock
in a little falling streamlet, and flowed across the path, and turning south ran
away swiftly to be lost among the dead stones.

Sam sprang towards it. ‘If ever I see the Lady again, I will tell her!’
he cried. ‘Light and now water!’ Then he stopped. ‘Let me drink first Mr.
Frodo,’ he said.

‘All right, but there’s room enough for two.’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Sam. ‘I mean: if it’s poisonous, or
something that will show its badness quick, well, better me than you, master, if
you understand me.’

The water was cool but not icy, and it had an unpleasant taste, at once
bitter and oily, or so they would have said at home. Here it seemed beyond all
praise, and beyond fear or prudence. They drank their fill, and Sam replenished
his water-bottle. After that Frodo felt easier, and they went on for several
miles, until the broadening of the road and the beginnings of a rough wall along
its edge warned them that they were drawing near to another orc-hold.

‘This is where we turn aside, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘And we must turn
east.’ He sighed as he looked at the gloomy ridges across the valley. ‘I
have just about enough strength left to find some hole away up there. And then I
must rest a little.’

The river-bed was now some way below the path. They scrambled down to it, and
began to cross it. To their surprise they came upon dark pools fed by threads of
water trickling down from some source higher up the valley. Upon its outer
marges under the westward mountains Mordor was a dying land, but it was not yet
dead. And here things still grew, harsh, twisted, bitter, struggling for life.
In the glens of the Morgai on the other side of the valley low scrubby trees
lurked and clung, coarse grey grass-tussocks fought with the stones, and
withered mosses crawled on them; and everywhere great writhing, tangled brambles
sprawled. Some had long stabbing thorns, some hooked barbs that rent like
knives. The sullen shrivelled leaves of a past year hung on them, grating and
rattling in the sad airs, but their maggot-ridden buds were only just opening.
Flies, dun or grey, or black, marked like ores with a red eye-shaped blotch,
buzzed and stung; and above the briar-thickets clouds of hungry midges danced
and reeled.

At last Frodo could go no further. They had climbed up a narrow shelving
ravine, but they still had a long way to go before they could even come in sight
of the last craggy ridge. ‘I must rest now, Sam, and sleep if I can.’ said
Frodo. He looked about, but there seemed nowhere even for an animal to crawl
into in this dismal country. At length, tired out, they slunk under a curtain of
brambles that hung down like a mat over a low rock-face.

There they sat and made such a meal as they could. Keeping back the precious lembas
for the evil days ahead, they ate the half of what remained in Sam’s bag of
Faramir’s provision: some dried fruit, and a small slip of cured meat; and
they sipped some water. They had drunk again from the pools in the valley, but
they were very, thirsty again. There was a bitter tang in the air of Mordor that
dried the mouth. When Sam thought of water even his hopeful spirit quailed.
Beyond the Morgai there was the dreadful plain of Gorgoroth to cross.

‘Now you go to sleep first, Mr. Frodo,’ he said. ‘It’s getting dark
again. I reckon this day is nearly over.’

Frodo sighed and was asleep almost before the words were spoken. Sam
struggled with his own weariness, and he took Frodo’s hand; and there he sat
silent till deep night fell. Then at last, to keep himself awake, he crawled
from the hiding-place and looked out. The land
seemed full of creaking and cracking and sly noises, but there was no sound of
voice or of foot. Far above the Ephel Dúath in the West the night-sky was
still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor
high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty
of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope
returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that
in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and
high beauty for ever beyond its reach. His song in the Tower had been defiance
rather than hope; for then he was thinking of himself. Now, for a moment, his
own fate, and even his masters, ceased to trouble him. He crawled back into the
brambles and laid himself by Frodo’s side, and putting away all fear he cast
himself into a deep untroubled sleep.

They woke together, hand in hand. Sam was almost fresh, ready for another
day; but Frodo sighed. His sleep had been uneasy, full of dreams of fire, and
waking brought him no comfort. Still his sleep had not been without all healing
virtue: he was stronger, more able to bear his burden one stage further. They
did not know the time, nor how long they had slept; but after a morsel of food
and a sip of water they went on up the ravine, until it ended in a sharp slope
of screes and sliding stones. There the last living things gave up their
struggle; the tops of the Morgai were grassless, bare, jagged, barren as a
slate.

After much wandering and search they found a way that they could climb, and
with a last hundred feet of clawing scramble they were up. They came to a cleft
between two dark crags, and passing through found themselves on the very edge of
the last fence of Mordor. Below them, at the bottom of a fall of some fifteen
hundred feet, lay the inner plain stretching away into a formless gloom beyond
their sight. The wind of the world blew now from the West, and the great clouds
were lifted high, floating away eastward; but still only a grey light came to
the dreary fields of Gorgoroth. There smokes trailed on the ground and lurked in
hollows, and fumes leaked from fissures in the earth.

Still far away, forty miles at least, they saw Mount Doom, its feet founded
in ashen ruin, its huge cone rising to a great height, where its reeking head
was swathed in cloud. Its fires were now dimmed, and it stood in smouldering
slumber, as threatening and dangerous as a sleeping beast. Behind it there hung
a vast shadow, ominous as a thunder-cloud, the
veils of Barad-dûr that was reared far way upon a long spur of the Ashen
Mountains thrust down from the North. The Dark Power was deep in thought, and
the Eye turned inward, pondering tidings of doubt and danger: a bright sword,
and a stern and kingly face it saw, and for a while it gave little thought to
other things; and all its great stronghold, gate on gate, and tower on tower,
was wrapped in a brooding gloom.

Frodo and Sam gazed out in mingled loathing and wonder on this hateful land.
Between them and the smoking mountain, and about it north and south, all seemed
ruinous and dead, a desert burned and choked. They wondered how the Lord of this
realm maintained and fed his slaves and his armies. Yet armies he had. As far as
their eyes could reach, along the skirts of the Morgai and away southward, there
were camps, some of tents, some ordered like small towns. One of the largest of
these was right below them. Barely a mile out into the plain it clustered like
some huge nest of insects, with straight dreary streets of huts and long low
drab buildings. About it the ground was busy with folk going to and fro; a wide
road ran from it south-east to join the Morgul-way, and along it many lines of
small black shapes were hurrying.

‘I don’t like the look of things at all,’ said Sam. ‘Pretty hopeless,
I call it - saving that where there’s such a lot of folk there must be wells
or water, not to mention food. And these are Men not Orcs, or my eyes are all
wrong.’

Neither he nor Frodo knew anything of the great
slave-worked fields away south in this wide realm, beyond the fumes of the
Mountain by the dark sad waters of Lake Núrnen; nor of the great roads
that ran away east and south to tributary lands, from which the soldiers of the
Tower brought long waggon-trains of goods and booty and fresh slaves.
Here in the northward regions were the mines and forges, and the musterings of
long-planned war; and here the Dark Power, moving its armies like pieces on the
board, was gathering them together. Its first moves, the first feelers of its
strength, had been checked upon its western line, southward and northward. For
the moment it withdrew them, and brought up new forces, massing them about
Cirith Gorgor for an avenging stroke. And if it had also been its purpose to
defend the Mountain against all approach, it could scarcely have done more.

‘Well!’ Sam went on. ‘Whatever they have to eat and drink, we can’t
get it. There’s no way down that I can see. And we couldn’t cross all that
open country crawling with enemies, even if we did get down.’

‘Still we shall have to try,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s no worse than I
expected. I never hoped to get across. I can’t see any hope of it now. But
I’ve still got to do the best I can. At present that is to avoid being
captured as long as possible. So we must still go northwards, I think, and see
what it is like where the open plain is narrower.’

‘I guess what it’ll be like,’ said Sam. ‘Where it’s narrower the
Orcs and Men will just be packed closer. You’ll see, Mr. Frodo.’

‘I dare say I shall, if we ever get so far,’ said Frodo and turned away.

They soon found that it was impossible to make their way along the crest of
the Morgai, or anywhere along its higher levels, pathless as they were and
scored with deep ghylls. In the end they were forced to go back down the ravine
that they had climbed and seek for a way along the valley. It was rough going,
for they dared not cross over to the path on the westward side. After a mile or
more they saw, huddled in a hollow at the cliff’s foot, the orc-hold that they
had guessed was near at hand: a wall and a cluster of stone huts set about the
dark mouth of a cave. There was no movement to be seen, but the hobbits crept by
cautiously, keeping as much as they could to the thorn-brakes that grew thickly
at this point along both sides of the old water-course.

They went two or three miles further, and the orc-hold was hidden from sight
behind them; but they had hardly begun to breathe more freely again when harsh
and loud they heard orc-voices. Quickly they slunk out of sight behind a brown
and stunted bush. The voices drew nearer. Presently two orcs came into view. One
was clad in ragged brown and was armed with a bow of horn; it was of a small
breed, black-skinned, with wide and snuffling nostrils: evidently a tracker of
some kind. The other was a big fighting-orc, like those of Shagrat’s company,
bearing the token of the Eye. He also had a bow at his back and carried a short
broad-headed spear. As usual they were quarrelling, and being of different
breeds they used the Common Speech after their fashion.

Hardly twenty paces from where the hobbits lurked the small orc stopped.
‘Nar!’ it snarled. ‘I’m going home.’ It pointed across the valley to
the orc-hold. ‘No good wearing my nose out on stones any more. There’s not a
trace left, I say. I’ve lost the scent through giving way to you. It went up
into the hills, not along the valley, I tell you.’

‘Not much use are you, you little snufflers?’ said the big orc. ‘I
reckon eyes are better than your snotty noses.’

‘Then what have you seen with them?’ snarled the other. ‘Garn! You
don’t even know what you’re looking for.’

‘Whose blame’s that?’ said the soldier. ‘Not mine. That comes from
Higher Up. First they say it’s a great Elf in bright armour, then it’s a
sort of small dwarf-man, then it must be a pack of rebel Uruk-hai; or maybe
it’s all the lot together.’

‘Ar!’ said the tracker. ‘They’ve lost their heads, that’s what it
is. And some of the bosses are going to lose their skins too, I guess, if what I
hear is true: Tower raided and all, and hundreds of your lads done in, and
prisoner got away. If that’s the way you fighters go on, small wonder
there’s bad news from the battles.’

‘All right, all right!’ said the tracker. ‘I’ll say no more and go on
thinking. But what’s the black sneak got to do with it all? That gobbler with
the flapping hands?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing, maybe. But he’s up to no good, nosing around,
I’ll wager. Curse him! No sooner had he slipped us and run off than word came
he’s wanted alive, wanted quick.’

‘Well, I hope they get him and put him through it,’ growled the tracker.
‘He messed up the scent back there, pinching that cast-off mail-shirt that he
found, and paddling all round the place before I could get there.’

‘It saved his life anyhow,’ said the soldier. ‘Why, before I knew he
was wanted I shot him, as neat as neat, at fifty paces right in the back; but he
ran on.’

‘Garn! You missed him,’ said the tracker. ‘First you shoot wild, then
you run too slow, and then you send for the poor trackers. I’ve had enough of
you.’ He loped off.

‘You come back,’ shouted the soldier, ‘or I’ll report you!’

‘Who to? Not to your precious Shagrat. He won’t be captain any more.’

‘I’ll give your name and number to the Nazgûl,’ said the soldier
lowering his voice to a hiss. ‘One of them’s in charge at the
Tower now.’

The other halted, and his voice was full of fear and rage. ‘You cursed
peaching sneakthief!’ he yelled. ‘You can’t do your job, and you can’t
even stick by your own folk. Go to your filthy Shriekers, and may they freeze
the flesh off you! If the enemy doesn’t get them first. They’ve done in
Number One, I’ve heard, and I hope it’s true!’

The big orc, spear in hand, leapt after him. But the tracker, springing
behind a stone, put an arrow in his eye as he ran up, and he fell with a crash.
The other ran off across the valley and disappeared.

For a while the hobbits sat in silence. At length Sam stirred. ‘Well I call
that neat as neat,’ he said. ‘If this nice friendliness would spread about
in Mordor, half our trouble would be over.’

‘Quietly, Sam,’ Frodo whispered. ‘There may be others about. We have
evidently had a very narrow escape, and the hunt was hotter on our tracks than
we guessed. But that is the spirit of Mordor, Sam; and it has spread to every
corner of it. Orcs have always behaved like that, or so all tales say, when they
are on their own. But you can’t get much hope out of it. They hate us far
more, altogether and all the time. If those two had seen us, they would have
dropped all their quarrel until we were dead.’

There was another long silence. Sam broke it again, but with a whisper this
time. ‘Did you hear what they said about that gobbler, Mr. Frodo? I
told you Gollum wasn’t dead yet, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, I remember. And I wondered how you knew,’ said Frodo. ‘Well come
now! I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite
dark. So you shall tell me how you know, and all about what happened. If you can
do it quietly.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Sam, ‘but when I think of that Stinker I get so hot
l could shout.’

There the hobbits sat under the cover of the thorny bush, while the drear
light of Mordor faded slowly into a deep and starless night; and Sam spoke into
Frodo’s ear all that he could find words for of Gollum’s treacherous attack,
the horror of Shelob, and his own adventures with the orcs. When he had
finished, Frodo said nothing but took Sam’s hand and pressed it. At length he
stirred.

‘Well, I suppose we must be going on again,’ he said. ‘I wonder how
long it will be before we really are caught and all the toiling and the slinking
will be over, and in vain.’ He stood up. ‘It’s dark, and we cannot use the
Lady’s glass. Keep it safe for me, Sam. I have nowhere to keep it now, except
in my hand, and I shall need both hands in the blind night. But Sting I give to
you. I have got an orc-blade, but I do not think it will be my part to strike
any blow again.’

It was difficult and dangerous moving in the night in the pathless land; but
slowly and with much stumbling the two hobbits toiled on hour by hour northward
along the eastern edge of the stony valley. When a grey light crept back over
the western heights, long after day had opened in the lands beyond, they went
into hiding again and slept a little, turn by turn. In his times of waking Sam
was busy with thoughts of food. At last when Frodo roused himself and spoke of
eating and making ready for yet another effort, he asked the question that was
troubling him most.

‘Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo,’ he said, ‘but have you any notion how
far there is still to go?’

‘No, not any clear notion, Sam,’ Frodo answered. ‘In Rivendell before I
set out I was shown a map of Mordor that was made before the Enemy came back
here; but I only remember it vaguely. I remember clearest that there was a place
in the north where the western range and the northern range send out spurs that
nearly meet. That must be twenty leagues at least from the bridge back by the
Tower. It might be a good point at which to cross. But of course, if we get
there, we shall be further than we were from the Mountain, sixty miles from it,
I should think. I guess that we have gone about twelve leagues north from the
bridge now. Even if all goes well, I could hardly reach the Mountain in a week.
I am afraid, Sam, that the burden will get very heavy, and I shall go still
slower as we get nearer.’

Sam sighed. ‘That’s just as I feared,’ he said. ‘Well, to say nothing
of water, we’ve got to eat less, Mr. Frodo, or else move a bit quicker, at any
rate while we’re still in this valley. One more bite and all the food’s
ended, save the Elves’ waybread.’

‘I’ll try and be a bit quicker, Sam,’ said Frodo, drawing a deep
breath. ‘Come on then! Let’s start another march!’

It was not yet quite dark again. They plodded along, on into the night. The
hours passed in a weary stumbling trudge with a few brief halts. At the first
hint of grey light under the skirts of the canopy of shadow they hid themselves
again in a dark hollow under an overhanging stone.

Slowly the light grew, until it was clearer than it yet had been. A strong
wind from the West was now driving the fumes of Mordor from the upper airs.
Before long the hobbits could make out the shape of the land for some miles
about them. The trough between the mountains and the Morgai had steadily
dwindled as it climbed upwards, and the inner ridge was now no more than a shelf
in the steep faces of the Ephel Dúath; but
to the east it fell as sheerly as ever down into Gorgoroth. Ahead the
water-course came to an end in broken steps of rock; for out from the main range
there sprang a high barren spur, thrusting eastward like a wall. To meet it
there stretched out from the grey and misty northern range of Ered Lithui a long
jutting arm; and between the ends there was a narrow gap: Carach Angren, the
Isenmouthe, beyond which lay the deep dale of Udûn. In that dale behind
the Morannon were the tunnels and deep armouries that the servants of
Mordor had made for the defence of the Black Gate of their land; and there now
their Lord was gathering in haste great forces to meet the onslaught of the
Captains of the West. Upon the out-thrust spurs forts and towers were built, and
watch-fires burned; and all across the gap an earth-wall had been raised, and a
deep trench delved that could be crossed only by a single bridge.

A few miles north, high up in the angle where the western spur branched away
from the main range, stood the old castle of
Durthang, now one of the many orc-holds that clustered about the dale of Udûn.
A road, already visible in the growing light, came winding down from it, until
only a mile or two from where the hobbits lay it turned east and ran
along a shelf cut in the side of the spur, and so went down into the plain, and
on to the Isenmouthe.

To the hobbits as they looked out it seemed that all their journey north had
been useless. The plain to their right was dim and smoky, and they could see
there neither camps nor troops moving; but all that region was under the
vigilance of the forts of Carach Angren.

‘We have come to a dead end, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘If we go on, we shall
only come up to that orc-tower, but the only road to take is that road that
comes down from it - unless we go back. We can’t climb up westward, or climb
down eastward.’

‘Then we must take the road, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘We must take it and
chance our luck, if there is any luck in Mordor. We might as well give ourselves
up as wander about any more, or try to go back. Our food won’t last. We’ve
got to make a dash for it!’

‘All right, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘Lead me! As long as you’ve got any
hope left. Mine is gone. But I can’t dash, Sam. I’ll just plod along after
you.’

‘Before you start any more plodding, you need sleep and food, Mr. Frodo.
Come and take what you can get of them!’

He gave Frodo water and an additional wafer of the waybread, and he made a
pillow of his cloak for his master’s head. Frodo was too weary to debate the
matter, and Sam did not tell him that he had drunk the last drop of their water,
and eaten Sam’s share of the food as well as his own. When Frodo was asleep
Sam bent over him and listened to his breathing and scanned his face. It was
lined and thin, and yet in sleep it looked content and unafraid. ‘Well, here
goes, Master!’ Sam muttered to himself. ‘I’ll have to leave you for a bit
and trust to luck. Water we must have, or we’ll get no further.’

Sam crept out, and flitting from stone to stone with more than hobbit-care,
he went down to the water-course, and then followed it for some way as it
climbed north, until he came to the rock-steps where long ago, no doubt, its
spring had come gushing down in a little waterfall. All now seemed dry and
silent; but refusing to despair Sam stooped and listened, and to his delight he
caught the sound of trickling. Clambering a few steps up he found a tiny stream
of dark water that came out from the hill-side and filled a little bare pool,
from which again it spilled, and vanished then under the barren stones.

Sam tasted the water, and it seemed good enough. Then he drank deeply,
refilled the bottle, and turned to go back. At that moment he caught a glimpse
of a black form or shadow flitting among the rocks away near Frodo’s
hiding-place. Biting back a cry, he leapt down from the spring and ran, jumping
from stone to stone. It was a wary creature, difficult to see, but Sam had
little doubt about it: he longed to get his hands on its neck. But it heard him
coming and slipped quickly away. Sam thought he saw a last fleeting glimpse of
it, peering back over the edge of the eastward precipice, before it ducked and
disappeared.

‘Well, luck did not let me down,’ muttered Sam, ‘but that was a near
thing! Isn’t it enough to have orcs by the thousand without that stinking
villain coming nosing round? I wish he had been shot!’ He sat down by Frodo
and did not rouse him; but he did not dare to go to sleep himself. At last when
he felt his eyes closing and knew that his struggle to keep awake could not go
on much longer, he wakened Frodo gently.

‘That Gollum’s about again, I’m afraid, Mr. Frodo,’ he said.
‘Leastways, if it wasn’t him, then there’s two of him. I went away to find
some water and spied him nosing round just as I turned back. I reckon it isn’t
safe for us both to sleep together, and begging your pardon, but I can’t hold
up my lids much longer.’

‘Bless you, Sam!’ said Frodo. ‘Lie down and take your proper turn! But
I’d rather have Gollum than orcs. At any rate he won’t give us away to them
- not unless he’s caught himself.’

‘But he might do a bit of robbery and murder on his own,’ growled Sam.
‘Keep your eyes open, Mr. Frodo! There’s a bottle full of water. Drink up.
We can fill it again when we go on.’ With that Sam plunged into sleep.

Light was fading when he woke. Frodo sat propped against the rock behind, but
he had fallen asleep. The water-bottle was empty. There was no sign of Gollum.

Mordor-dark had returned, and the watch-fires on the heights burned fierce
and red, when the hobbits set out again on the most dangerous stage of all their
journey. They went first to the little spring, and then climbing warily up they
came to the road at the point where it swung east towards the Isenmouthe twenty
miles away. It was not a broad road, and it had no wall or parapet along the
edge and as it ran on the sheer drop from its brink became deeper and deeper.
The hobbits could hear no movements, and after listening for a while they set
off eastward at a steady pace.

After doing some twelve miles, they halted. A short way back the road had
bent a little northward and the stretch that they had passed over was now
screened from sight. This proved disastrous. They rested for some minutes and
then went on; but they had not taken many steps when suddenly in the stillness
of the night they heard the sound that all along they had secretly dreaded: the
noise of marching feet. It was still some way behind them, but looking back they
could see the twinkle of torches coming round the bend less than a mile away,
and they were moving fast: too fast for Frodo to escape by flight along the road
ahead.

‘I feared it, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘We’ve trusted to luck, and it has
failed us. We’re trapped.’ He looked wildly up at the frowning wall, where
the road-builders of old had cut the rock sheer for many fathoms above their
heads. He ran to the other side and looked over the brink into a dark pit of
gloom. ‘We’re trapped at last!’ he said He sank to the ground beneath the
wall of rock and bowed his head.

‘Seems so,’ said Sam. ‘Well, we can but wait and see.’ And with that
he sat down beside Frodo under the shadow of the cliff.

They did not have to wait long. The orcs were going at a great pace. Those in
the foremost files bore torches. On they came, red flames in the dark, swiftly
growing. Now Sam too bowed his head, hoping that it would hide his face when the
torches reached them; and he set their shields before their knees to hide their
feet.

‘If only they are in a hurry and will let a couple of tired soldiers alone
and pass on!’ he thought.

And so it seemed that they would. The leading orcs came loping along,
panting, holding their heads down. They were a gang of the smaller breeds being
driven unwilling to their Dark Lord’s wars; all they cared for was to get the
march over and escape the whip. Beside them, running up and down the line, went
two of the large fierce uruks, cracking lashes and shouting. File after
file passed, and the tell-tale torchlight was already some way ahead. Sam held
his breath. Now more than half the line had gone by. Then suddenly one of the
slave-drivers spied the two figures by the road-side. He flicked a whip at them
and yelled: ‘Hi, you! Get up!’ They did not answer, and with a shout he
halted the whole company.

‘Come on, you slugs!’ he cried. ‘This is
no time for slouching.’ He took a step towards them, and even in the gloom he
recognized the devices on their shields. ‘Deserting, eh?’ he snarled. ‘Or
thinking of it? All your folk should have been inside Udûn before
yesterday evening. You know that. Up you get and fall in, or I’ll have
your numbers and report you.’

They struggled to their feet, and keeping bent, limping like footsore
soldiers, they shuffled back towards the rear of the line. ‘No, not at the
rear!’ the slave-driver shouted. ‘Three files up. And stay there, or
you’ll know it, when I come down the line!’ He sent his long whip-lash
cracking over their heads; then with another crack and a yell he started the
company off again at a brisk trot.

It was hard enough for poor Sam, tired as he was; but for Frodo it was a
torment, and soon a nightmare. He set his teeth and tried to stop his mind from
thinking, and he struggled on. The stench of the sweating orcs about him was
stifling, and he began to gasp with thirst. On, on they went, and he bent all
his will to draw his breath and to make his legs keep going; and yet to what
evil end he toiled and endured he did not dare to think. There was no hope of
falling out unseen: Now and again the orc-driver fell back and jeered at them.

‘There now!’ he laughed, flicking at their legs. ‘Where there’s a
whip there’s a will, my slugs. Hold up! I’d give you a nice freshener now,
only you’ll get as much lash as your skins will carry when you come in late to
your camp. Do you good. Don’t you know we’re at war?’

They had gone some miles, and the road was at last running down a long slope
into the plain, when Frodo’s strength began to give out and his will wavered.
He lurched and stumbled. Desperately Sam tried to help him and hold him up,
though he felt that he could himself hardly stay the pace much longer. At any
moment now he knew that the end would come: his master would faint or fall, and
all would be discovered, and their bitter efforts be in vain. ‘I’ll have
that big slave-driving devil anyway,’ he thought.

Then just as he was putting his hand to the hilt of his sword, there came an
unexpected relief. They were out on the plain now and drawing near the entrance
to Udûn. Some way in front of it, before the gate at the bridge-end, the
road from the west converged with others coming from the south, and from Barad-dûr.
Along all the roads troops were moving; for the Captains of the West were
advancing and the Dark Lord was speeding his forces north. So it chanced that
several companies came together at the road-meeting, in the dark beyond
the light of the watch-fires on the wall. At once there was great jostling and
cursing as each troop tried to get first to the gate and the ending of their
march. Though the drivers yelled and plied their whips, scuffles broke out and
some blades were drawn. A troop of heavy-armed uruks
from Barad-dûr charged into the Durthang line and threw them into
confusion.

Dazed as he was with pain and weariness, Sam woke up, grasped quickly at his
chance, and threw himself to the ground, dragging Frodo down with him. Orcs fell
over them, snarling and cursing. Slowly on hand and knee the hobbits crawled
away out of the turmoil, until at last unnoticed they dropped over the further
edge of the road. It had a high kerb by which troop-leaders could guide
themselves in black night or fog, and it was banked up some feet above the level
of the open land.

They lay still for a while. It was too dark to seek for cover, if indeed
there was any to find; but Sam felt that they ought at least to get further away
from the highways and out of the range of torch-light.

‘Come on, Mr. Frodo!’ he whispered. ‘One more crawl, and then you can
lie still.’

With a last despairing effort Frodo raised himself on his hands, and
struggled on for maybe twenty yards. Then he pitched down into a shallow pit
that opened unexpectedly before them, and there he lay like a dead thing.

Chapter 3

Mount Doom

Sam put his ragged orc-cloak under his master’s head, and covered them both
with the grey robe of Lórien; and as he did so his thoughts went
out to that fair land, and to the Elves, and he hoped that the cloth woven by
their hands might have some virtue to keep them hidden beyond all hope in this
wilderness of fear. He heard the scuffling and cries die down as the troops
passed on through the Isenmouthe. It seemed that in the confusion and the
mingling of many companies of various kinds they had not been missed, not yet at
any rate.

Sam took a sip of water, but pressed Frodo to drink, and when his master had
recovered a little he gave him a whole wafer of their precious waybread and made
him eat it. Then, too worn out even to feel much fear, they stretched themselves
out. They slept a little in uneasy fits; for their sweat grew chill on them, and
the hard stones bit them, and they shivered. Out of the north from the Black
Gate through Cirith Gorgor there flowed whispering along the ground a thin cold
air.

In the morning a grey light came again, for in the high regions the West Wind
still blew, but down on the stones behind the fences of the Black Land the air
seemed almost dead, chill and yet stifling. Sam looked up out of the hollow. The
land all about was dreary, flat and drab-hued. On the roads nearby nothing was
moving now; but Sam feared the watchful eyes on the wall of the Isenmouthe, no
more than a furlong away northward. South-eastward, far off like a dark standing
shadow. loomed the Mountain. Smokes were pouring from it and while those that
rose into the upper air trailed away eastward, great rolling clouds floated down
its sides and spread over the land. A few miles to the north-east the foothills
of the Ashen Mountains stood like sombre grey ghosts, behind which the misty
northern heights rose like a line of distant cloud hardly darker than the
lowering sky.

Sam tried to guess the distances and to decide what way they ought to take.
It looks every step of fifty miles,’ he muttered gloomily staring at the
threatening mountain, ‘and that’ll take a week, if it takes a day, with Mr.
Frodo as he is.’ He shook his head, and as he worked things out, slowly a new
dark thought grew in his mind. Never for long had hope died in his staunch
heart, and always until now he had taken some thought for their return. But the
bitter truth came home to him at last: at best their provision would take them
to their goal; and when the task was done, there they would come to an end,
alone, houseless, foodless in the midst of a terrible desert. There could be no
return.

‘So that was the job I felt I had to do when I started,’ thought Sam:
‘to help Mr. Frodo to the last step and then die with him? Well, if that is
the job then I must do it. But I would dearly like to see Bywater again, and
Rosie Cotton and her brothers, and the Gaffer and Marigold and all. I can’t
think somehow that Gandalf would have sent Mr. Frodo on this errand if there
hadn’t a’ been any hope of his ever coming back at all. Things all went
wrong when he went down in Moria. I wish he hadn’t. He would have done
something.’

But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to a new
strength. Sam’s plain hobbit-face grew stern, almost grim, as the will
hardened in him, and he felt through all his limbs a thrill, as if he was
turning into some creature of stone and steel that neither despair nor weariness
nor endless barren miles could subdue.

With a new sense of responsibility he brought his eyes back to the ground
near at hand, studying the next move. As the light grew a little he saw to his
surprise that what from a distance had seemed wide and featureless flats were in
fact all broken and tumbled. Indeed the whole surface of the plains of Gorgoroth
was pocked with great holes, as if, while it was still a waste of soft mud, it
had been smitten with a shower of bolts and huge slingstones. The largest of
these holes were rimmed with ridges of broken rock, and broad fissures ran out
from them in all directions. It was a land in which it would be possible to
creep from hiding to hiding, unseen by all but the most watchful eyes: possible
at least for one who was strong and had no need for speed. For the hungry and
worn, who had far to go before life failed, it had an evil look.

Thinking of all these things Sam went back to his master. He had no need to
rouse him. Frodo was lying on his back with eyes open, staring at the cloudy
sky. ‘Well, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam, ‘I’ve been having a look round and
thinking a bit. There’s nothing on the roads, and we’d best be getting away
while there’s a chance. Can you manage it?’

‘I can manage it,’ said Frodo. ‘I must.’

Once more they started, crawling from hollow to hollow, flitting behind such
cover as they could find, but moving always in a slant towards the foothills of
the northern range. But as they went the most easterly of the roads followed
them, until it ran off, hugging the skirts of the mountains, away into a wall of
black shadow far ahead. Neither man nor orc now moved along its flat grey
stretches; for the Dark Lord had almost completed the movement of his forces,
and even in the fastness of his own realm he sought the secrecy of night,
fearing the winds of the world that had turned against him, tearing aside his
veils, and troubled with tidings of bold spies that had passed through his
fences.

The hobbits had gone a few weary miles when they halted. Frodo seemed nearly
spent. Sam saw that he could not go much further in this fashion, crawling,
stooping, now picking a doubtful way very slowly, now hurrying at a stumbling
run.

‘I’m going back on to the road while the light lasts, Mr. Frodo,’ he
said. ‘Trust to luck again! It nearly failed us last time, but it didn’t
quite. A steady pace for a few more miles, and then a rest.’

He was taking a far greater risk than he knew; but Frodo was too much
occupied with his burden and with the struggle in his mind to debate, and almost
too hopeless to care. They climbed on to the causeway and trudged along, down
the hard cruel road that led to the Dark Tower itself. But their luck held, and
for the rest of that day they met no living or moving thing; and when night fell
they vanished into the darkness of Mordor. All the land now brooded as at the
coming of a great storm: for the Captains of the West had passed the Cross-roads
and set flames in the deadly fields of Imlad Morgul.

So the desperate journey went on, as the Ring went south and the banners of
the kings rode north. For the hobbits each day, each mile. was more bitter than
the one before, as their strength lessened and the land became more evil. They
met no enemies by day. At times by night, as they cowered or drowsed uneasily in
some hiding beside the road, they heard cries and the noise of many feet or the
swift passing of some cruelly ridden steed. But far worse than all such perils
was the ever-approaching threat that beat upon them as they went: the dreadful
menace of the Power that waited, brooding in deep thought and sleepless malice
behind the dark veil about its Throne. Nearer and nearer it drew, looming
blacker, like the oncoming of a wall of night at the last end of the world.

There came at last a dreadful nightfall; and even as the Captains of the West
drew near to the end of the living lands, the two wanderers came to an hour of
blank despair. Four days had passed since they had escaped from the orcs, but
the time lay behind them like an ever-darkening dream. All this last day Frodo
had not spoken, but had walked half-bowed, often stumbling, as if his eyes no
longer saw the way before his feet. Sam guessed that among all their pains he
bore the worst, the growing weight of the Ring, a burden on the body and a
torment to his mind. Anxiously Sam had noted how his master’s left hand would
often be raised as if to ward on a blow, or to screen his shrinking eyes from a
dreadful Eye that sought to look in them. And sometimes his right hand would
creep to his breast, clutching, and then slowly, as the will recovered mastery,
it would be withdrawn.

Now as the blackness of night returned Frodo sat, his head between his knees,
his arms hanging wearily to the ground where his hands lay feebly twitching. Sam
watched him, till night covered them both and hid them from one another. He
could no longer find any words to say; and he turned to his own dark thoughts.
As for himself, though weary and under a shadow of fear, he still had some
strength left. The lembas had a virtue without which they would long ago
have lain down to die. It did not satisfy desire, and at times Sam’s mind was
filled with the memories of food, and the longing for simple bread and meats.
And yet this waybread of the Elves had a potency that increased as travellers
relied on it alone and did not mingle it with other foods. It fed the will, and
it gave strength to endure, and to master sinew and limb beyond the measure of
mortal kind. But now a new decision must be made. They could not follow this
road any longer; for it went on eastward into the great Shadow, but the Mountain
now loomed upon their right, almost due south, and they must turn towards it.
Yet still before it there stretched a wide region of fuming, barren, ash-ridden
land.

‘Water, water!’ muttered Sam. He had stinted himself, and in his parched
mouth his tongue seemed thick and swollen; but for all his care they now had
very little left, perhaps half his bottle, and maybe there were still days to
go. All would long ago have been spent, if they had not dared to follow the
orc-road. For at long intervals on that highway cisterns had been built for the
use of troops sent in haste through the waterless regions. In one Sam had found
some water left, stale, muddied by the orcs, but still sufficient for their
desperate case. Yet that was now a day ago. There was no hope of any more.

At last wearied with his cares Sam drowsed, leaving the morrow till it came;
he could do no more. Dream and waking mingled uneasily. He saw lights like
gloating yes, and dark creeping shapes, and he heard noises as of wild beasts or
the dreadful cries of tortured things; and he would start up to find the world
all dark and only empty blackness all about him. Once only, as he stood and
stared wildly round, did it seem that, though now awake, he could still see pale
lights like eyes; but soon they flickered and vanished.

The hateful night passed slowly and reluctantly. Such daylight as followed
was dim; for here as the Mountain drew near the air was ever mirky, while out
from the Dark Tower there crept the veils of Shadow that Sauron wove about
himself. Frodo was lying on his back not moving. Sam stood beside him, reluctant
to speak, and yet knowing that the word now lay with him: he must set his
master’s will to work for another effort. At length, stooping and caressing
Frodo’s brow, he spoke in his ear.

‘Wake up, Master!’ he said. ‘Time for another start.’

As if roused by a sudden bell, Frodo rose quickly, and stood up and looked
away southwards; but when his eyes beheld the Mountain and the desert he quailed
again.

‘I can’t manage it, Sam,’ he said. ‘It is such a weight to carry,
such a weight.’

Sam knew before he spoke, that it was vain, and that such words might do more
harm than good, but in his pity he could not keep silent. ‘Then let me carry
it a bit for you, Master,’ he said. ‘You know I would, and gladly, as long
as I have any strength.’

A wild light came into Frodo’s eyes. ‘Stand away! Don’t touch me!’ he
cried. ‘It is mine, I say. Be off!’ His hand strayed to his sword-hilt. But
then quickly his voice changed. ‘No, no, Sam,’ he said sadly. ‘But you
must understand. It is my burden, and no one else can bear it. It is too late
now, Sam dear. You can’t help me in that way again. I am almost in its power
now. I could not give it up, and if you tried to take it I should go mad.’

Sam nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘But I’ve been thinking, Mr.
Frodo, there’s other things we might do without. Why not lighten the load a
bit? We’re going that way now, as straight as we can make it.’ He pointed to
the Mountain. ‘It’s no good taking anything we’re not sure to need.’

Frodo looked again towards the Mountain. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we shan’t
need much on that road. And at its end nothing.’ Picking up his orc-shield he
flung it away and threw his helmet after it. Then pulling off the grey cloak he
undid the heavy belt and let it fall to the ground, and the sheathed sword with
it. The shreds of the black cloak he tore off and scattered.

‘There, I’ll be an orc no more,’ he cried, ‘and I’ll bear no weapon
fair or foul. Let them take me, if they will!’

Sam did likewise, and put aside his orc-gear; and he took out all the things
in his pack. Somehow each of them had become dear to him, if only because he had
borne them so far with so much toil. Hardest of all it was to part with his
cooking-gear. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of casting it away.

‘Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘And our
place under the warm bank in Captain Faramir’s country, the day I saw an
oliphaunt?’

‘No, I am afraid not, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘At least, I know that such
things happened, but I cannot see them. No taste of food, no feel of water, no
sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star
are left to me. I am naked in the dark. Sam, and there is no veil between me and
the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else
fades.’

Sam went to him and kissed his hand. ‘Then the sooner we’re rid of it,
the sooner to rest,’ he said haltingly, finding no better words to say.
‘Talking won’t mend nothing,’ he muttered to himself, as he gathered up
all the things that they had chosen to cast away. He was not willing to leave
them lying open in the wilderness for any eyes to see. ‘Stinker picked up that
orc-shirt, seemingly, and he isn’t going to add a sword to it. His hands are
bad enough when empty. And he isn’t going to mess with my pans!’ With that
he carried all the gear away to one of the many gaping fissures that scored the
land and threw them in. The clatter of his precious pans as they fell down into
the dark was like a death-knell to his heart.

He came back to Frodo, and then of his elven-rope he cut a short piece to
serve his master as a girdle and bind the grey cloak close about his waist. The
rest he carefully coiled and put back in his pack. Beside that he kept only the
remnants of their waybread and the water-bottle, and Sting still hanging by his
belt; and hidden away in a pocket of his tunic next his breast the phial of
Galadriel and the little box that she gave him for his own.

Now at last they turned their faces to the Mountain and set out, thinking no
more of concealment, bending their weariness and failing wills only to the one
task of going on. In the dimness of its dreary day few things even in that land
of vigilance could have espied them, save from close at hand. Of all the slaves
of the Dark Lord, only the Nazgûl could have warned him of the peril that
crept, small but indomitable, into the very heart of his guarded realm. But the
Nazgûl and their black wings were abroad on another errand: they
were gathered far away, shadowing the march of the Captains of the West, and
thither the thought of the Dark Tower was turned.

That day it seemed to Sam that his master had found some new strength, more
than could be explained by the small lightening of the load that he had to
carry. In the first marches they went further and faster than he had hoped. The
land was rough and hostile, and yet they made much progress, and ever the
Mountain drew nearer. But as the day wore on and all too soon the dim light
began to fail, Frodo stooped again, and began to stagger, as if the renewed
effort had squandered his remaining strength.

At their last halt he sank down and said: ‘I’m thirsty, Sam,’ and did
not speak again. Sam gave him a mouthful of water; only one more mouthful
remained. He went without himself; and now as once more the night of Mordor
closed over them, through all his thoughts there came the memory of water; and
every brook or stream or fount that he had ever seen, under green willow-shades
or twinkling in the sun, danced and rippled for his torment behind the blindness
of his eyes. He felt the cool mud about his toes as he paddled in the Pool at
Bywater with Jolly Cotton and Tom and Nibs, and their sister Rosie. ‘But that
was years ago,’ he sighed, ‘and far away. The way back, if there is one,
goes past the Mountain.’

He could not sleep and he held a debate with himself. ‘Well, come now,
we’ve done better than you hoped,’ he said sturdily. ‘Began well anyway. I
reckon we crossed half the distance before we stopped. One more day will do
it.’ And then he paused.

‘Don’t be a fool, Sam Gamgee,’ came an answer in his own voice. ‘He
won’t go another day like that, if he moves at all. And you can’t go on much
longer giving him all the water and most of the food.’

‘I can go on a good way though, and I will.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the Mountain, of course.’

‘But what then, Sam Gamgee, what then? When you get there, what are you
going to do? He won’t be able to do anything for himself.’

To his dismay Sam realized that he had not got an answer to this. He had no
clear idea at all. Frodo had not spoken much to him of his errand, and Sam only
knew vaguely that the Ring had somehow to be put into the fire. ‘The Cracks of
Doom,’ he muttered, the old name rising to his mind. ‘Well, if Master knows
how to find them, I don’t.’

‘There you are!’ came the answer. ‘It’s all quite useless. He said so
himself. You are the fool, going on hoping and toiling. You could have lain down
and gone to sleep together days ago, if you hadn’t been so dogged. But
you’ll die just the same, or worse. You might just as well lie down now and
give it up. You’ll never get to the top anyway.’

‘I’ll get there, if I leave everything but my bones behind,’ said Sam.
‘And I’ll carry Mr. Frodo up myself, if it breaks my back and heart. So stop
arguing!’

At that moment Sam felt a tremor in the ground beneath him, and he heard or
sensed a deep remote rumble as of thunder imprisoned under the earth. There was
a brief red flame that flickered under the clouds and died away. The Mountain
too slept uneasily.

The last stage of their journey to Orodruin came, and it was a torment
greater than Sam had ever thought that he could bear. He was in pain, and so
parched that he could no longer swallow even a mouthful of food. It remained
dark, not only because of the smokes of the Mountain: there seemed to be a storm
coming up, and away to the south-east there was a shimmer of lightnings under
the black skies. Worst of all, the air was full of fumes; breathing was painful
and difficult, and a dizziness came on them, so that they staggered and often
fell. And yet their wills did not yield, and they struggled on.

The Mountain crept up ever nearer, until, if they lifted their heavy heads,
it filled all their sight, looming vast before them: a huge mass of ash and slag
and burned stone, out of which a sheer-sided cone was raised into the clouds.
Before the daylong dusk ended and true night came again they had crawled and
stumbled to its very feet.

With a gasp Frodo cast himself on the ground. Sam sat by him. To his surprise
he felt tired but lighter, and his head seemed clear again. No more debates
disturbed his mind. He knew all the arguments of despair and would not listen to
them. His will was set, and only death would break it. He felt no longer either
desire or need of sleep, but rather of watchfulness. He knew that all the
hazards and perils were now drawing together to a point: the next day would be a
day of doom, the day of final effort or disaster, the last gasp.

But when would it come? The night seemed endless and timeless, minute after
minute falling dead and adding up to no passing hour, bringing no change. Sam
began to wonder if a second darkness had begun and no day would ever reappear.
At last he groped for Frodo’s hand. It was cold and trembling. His master was
shivering.

‘I didn’t ought to have left my blanket behind,’ muttered Sam; and
lying down he tried to comfort Frodo with his arms and body. Then sleep took
him, and the dim light of the last day of their quest found them side by side.
The wind had fallen the day before as it shifted from the West, and now it came
from the North and began to rise; and slowly the light of the unseen Sun
filtered down into the shadows where the hobbits lay.

‘Now for it! Now for the last gasp!’ said Sam as he struggled to his
feet. He bent over Frodo, rousing him gently. Frodo groaned; but with a great
effort of will he staggered up; and then he fell upon his knees again. He raised
his eyes with difficulty to the dark slopes of Mount Doom towering above him,
and then pitifully he began to crawl forward on his hands.

Sam looked at him and wept in his heart, but no tears came to his dry and
stinging eyes. ‘I said I’d carry him, if it broke my back,’ he muttered,
‘and I will!’

‘Come, Mr. Frodo!’ he cried. ‘I can’t carry it for you, but I can
carry you and it as well. So up you get! Come on, Mr. Frodo dear! Sam will give
you a ride. Just tell him where to go, and he’ll go.’

As Frodo clung upon his back, arms loosely about his neck, legs clasped
firmly under his arms, Sam staggered to his feet; and then to his amazement he
felt the burden light. He had feared that he would have barely strength to lift
his master alone, and beyond that he had expected to share in the dreadful
dragging weight of the accursed Ring. But it was not so. Whether because Frodo
was so worn by his long pains, wound of knife, and venomous sting, and sorrow,
fear, and homeless wandering, or because some gift of final strength was given
to him, Sam lifted Frodo with no more difficulty than if he were carrying a
hobbit-child pig-a-back in some romp on the lawns or hayfields of the Shire. He
took a deep breath and started off.

They had reached the Mountain’s foot on its northern side, and a little to
the westward; there its long grey slopes, though broken, were not sheer. Frodo
did not speak, and so Sam struggled on as best he could, having no guidance but
the will to climb as high as might be before his strength gave out and his will
broke. On he toiled, up and up, turning this way and that to lessen the slope,
often stumbling forward, and at the last crawling like a snail with a heavy
burden on its back. When his will could drive him no further, and his limbs gave
way, he stopped and laid his master gently down.

Frodo opened his eyes and drew a breath. It was easier to breathe up here
above the reeks that coiled and drifted down below. ‘Thank you, Sam,’ he
said in a cracked whisper. ‘How far is there to go?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sam, ‘because I don’t know where we’re
going.’

He looked back, and then he looked up; and he was amazed to see how far his
last effort had brought him. The Mountain standing ominous and alone had looked
taller than it was. Sam saw now that it was less lofty than the high
passes of the Ephel Dúath which he and Frodo had scaled. The confused and
tumbled shoulders of its great base rose for maybe three thousand feet above the
plain, and above them was reared half as high again its tall central cone, like
a vast oast or chimney capped with a jagged crater. But already Sam was
more than half way up the base, and the plain of Gorgoroth was dim below him,
wrapped in fume and shadow. As he looked up he would have given a shout. if his
parched throat had allowed him; for amid the rugged humps and shoulders above
him he saw plainly a path or road. It climbed like a rising girdle from the west
and wound snakelike about the Mountain, until before it went round out of view
it reached the foot of the cone upon its eastern side.

Sam could not see the course immediately above him, where it was lowest, for
a steep slope went up from where he stood; but he guessed that if he could only
struggle on just a little way further up, they would strike this path. A gleam
of hope returned to him. They might conquer the Mountain yet. ‘Why, it might
have been put there a-purpose!’ he said to himself. ‘If it wasn’t there,
I’d have to say I was beaten in the end.’

The path was not put there for the purposes of Sam. He did not know it, but
he was looking at Sauron’s Road from Barad-dûr
to the Sammath Naur, the Chambers of Fire. Out from the Dark Tower’s huge
western gate it came over a deep abyss by a vast bridge of iron, and then
passing into the plain it ran for a league between two smoking chasms, and so reached
a long sloping causeway that led up on to the Mountain’s eastern side. Thence,
turning and encircling all its wide girth from south to north, it climbed at
last, high in the upper cone, but still far from the reeking summit, to a dark
entrance that gazed back east straight to the Window of the Eye in Sauron’s
shadow-mantled fortress. Often blocked or destroyed by the tumults of the
Mountain’s furnaces, always that road was repaired and cleaned again by the
labours of countless orcs.

Sam drew a deep breath. There was a path, but how he was to get up the slope
to it he did not know. First he must ease his aching back. He lay flat beside
Frodo for a while. Neither spoke. Slowly the light grew. Suddenly a sense of
urgency which he did not understand came to Sam. It was almost as if he had been
called: ‘Now, now, or it will be too late!’ He braced himself and got up.
Frodo also seemed to have felt the call. He struggled to his knees.

‘I’ll crawl, Sam,’ he gasped.

So foot by foot, like small grey insects, they crept up the slope. They came
to the path and found that it was broad, paved with broken rubble and beaten
ash. Frodo clambered on to it, and then moved as if by some compulsion he turned
slowly to face the East. Far off the shadows of Sauron hung; but torn by some
gust of wind out of the world, or else moved by some great disquiet within, the
mantling clouds swirled, and for a moment drew aside; and then he saw, rising
black, blacker and darker than the vast shades amid which it stood, the cruel
pinnacles and iron crown of the topmost tower of
Barad-dûr. One moment only it stared out, but as from some great window
immeasurably high there stabbed northward a flame of red, the flicker of a
piercing Eye; and then the shadows were furled again and the terrible
vision was removed. The Eye was not turned to them: it was gazing north to where
the Captains of the West stood at bay, and thither all its malice was now bent,
as the Power moved to strike its deadly blow; but Frodo at that dreadful glimpse
fell as one stricken mortally. His hand sought the chain about his neck.

Sam knelt by him. Faint, almost inaudibly, he heard Frodo whispering: ‘Help
me, Sam! Help me, Sam! Hold my hand! I can’t stop it.’ Sam took his
master’s hands and laid them together, palm to palm, and kissed them; and then
he held them gently between his own. The thought came suddenly to him: ‘He’s
spotted us! It’s all up, or it soon will be. Now, Sam Gamgee, this is the end
of ends.’

Again he lifted Frodo and drew his hands down to his own breast. letting his
master’s legs dangle. Then he bowed his head and struggled off along the
climbing road. It was not as easy a way to take as it had looked at first. By
fortune the fires that had poured forth in the great turmoils when Sam stood
upon Cirith Ungol had flowed down mainly on the southern and western slopes, and
the road on this side was not blocked. Yet in many places it had crumbled away
or was crossed by gaping rents. After climbing eastward for some time it bent
back upon itself at a sharp angle and went westward fox a space. There at the
bend it was cut deep through a crag of old weathered stone once long ago vomited
from the Mountain’s furnaces. Panting under his load Sam turned the bend; and
even as he did so, out of the corner of his eye, he had a glimpse of something
falling from the crag, like a small piece of black stone that had toppled off as
he passed.

A sudden weight smote him and he crashed forward, tearing the backs of his
hands that still clasped his master’s. Then he knew what had happened, for
above him as he lay he heard a hated voice.

‘Wicked masster!’ it hissed. ‘Wicked masster
cheats us; cheats Sméagol, gollum. He musstn’t go that
way. He musstn’t hurt Preciouss. Give it to Sméagol,
yess, give it to us! Give it to uss!’

With a violent heave Sam rose up. At once he drew his sword; but he could do
nothing. Gollum and Frodo were locked together. Gollum was tearing at his
master, trying to get at the chain and the Ring. This was probably the only
thing that could have roused the dying embers of Frodo’s heart and will: an
attack, an attempt to wrest his treasure from him by force. He fought back with
a sudden fury that amazed Sam, and Gollum also. Even so things might have gone
far otherwise, if Gollum himself had remained unchanged; but whatever dreadful
paths, lonely and hungry and waterless, he had trodden, driven by a devouring
desire and a terrible fear, they had left grievous marks on him. He was a lean,
starved, haggard thing, all bones and tight-drawn sallow skin. A wild light
flamed in his eyes, but his malice was no longer matched by his old griping
strength. Frodo flung him off and rose up quivering.

‘Down, down!’ he gasped, clutching his hand to his breast, so that
beneath the cover of his leather shirt he clasped the Ring. ‘Down you creeping
thing, and out of my path! Your time is at an end. You cannot betray me or slay
me now.’

Then suddenly, as before under the eaves of the Emyn Muil, Sam saw these two
rivals with other vision. A crouching shape, scarcely more than the shadow of a
living thing, a creature now wholly ruined and defeated, yet filled with a
hideous lust and rage; and before it stood stern, untouchable now by pity, a
figure robed in white, but at its breast it held a wheel of fire. Out of the
fire there spoke a commanding voice.

‘Begone, and trouble me no more! If you touch me ever again, you shall be
cast yourself into the Fire of Doom.’

The crouching shape backed away, terror in its blinking eyes, and yet at the
same time insatiable desire.

Then the vision passed and Sam saw Frodo standing, hand on breast, his breath
coming in great gasps, and Gollum at his feet, resting on his knees with his
wide-splayed hands upon the ground.

Frodo looked at him as if at one now far away. ‘Yes, I must go on,’ he
said. ‘Farewell, Sam! This is the end at last. On Mount Doom doom shall fall.
Farewell!’ He turned and went on, walking slowly but erect up the climbing
path.

‘Now!’ said Sam. ‘At last I can deal with you!’ He leaped forward
with drawn blade ready for battle. But Gollum did not spring. He fell flat upon
the ground and whimpered.

‘Don’t kill us,’ he wept. ‘Don’t hurt us with nassty cruel steel!
Let us live, yes, live just a little longer. Lost lost! We’re lost. And when
Precious goes we’ll die, yes, die into the dust.’ He clawed up the ashes of
the path with his long fleshless fingers. ‘Dusst!’ he hissed.

Sam’s hand wavered. His mind was hot with wrath and the memory of evil. It
would be just to slay this treacherous, murderous creature, just and many times
deserved; and also it seemed the only safe thing to do. But deep in his heart
there was something that restrained him: he could not strike this thing lying in
the dust, forlorn, ruinous, utterly wretched. He himself, though only for a
little while, had borne the Ring, and now dimly he guessed the agony of
Gollum’s shrivelled mind and body, enslaved to that Ring, unable to find peace
or relief ever in life again. But Sam had no words to express what he felt.

‘Oh, curse you, you stinking thing!’ he said. ‘Go away! Be off! I
don’t trust you, not as far as I could kick you; but be off. Or I shall
hurt you, yes, with nasty cruel steel.’

Gollum got up on all fours, and backed away for several paces, and then he
turned, and as Sam aimed a kick at him he fled away down the path. Sam gave no
more heed to him. He suddenly remembered his master. He looked up the path and
could not see him. As fast as he could he trudged up the road. If he had looked
back, he might have seen not far below Gollum turn again, and then with a wild
light of madness glaring in his eyes come, swiftly but warily, creeping on
behind, a slinking shadow among the stones.

The path climbed on. Soon it bent again and. with a last eastward course
passed in a cutting along the face of the cone and came to the dark door in the
Mountain’s side, the door of the Sammath Naur. Far away now rising towards the
South the sun, piercing the smokes and haze, burned ominous, a dull bleared disc
of red; but all Mordor lay about the Mountain like a dead land, silent,
shadow-folded, waiting for some dreadful stroke.

Sam came to the gaping mouth and peered in. It was dark and hot, and a deep
rumbling shook the air. ‘Frodo! Master!’ he called. There was no answer. For
a moment he stood, his heart beating with wild fears, and then he plunged in. A
shadow followed him.

At first he could see nothing. In his great need he drew out once more the
phial of Galadriel, but it was pale and cold in his trembling hand and threw no
light into that stifling dark. He was come to the heart of the realm of Sauron
and the forges of his ancient might, greatest in Middle-earth; all other powers
were here subdued. Fearfully he took a few uncertain steps in the dark, and then
all at once there came a flash of red that leaped upward, and smote the high
black roof. Then Sam saw that he was in a long cave or tunnel that bored into
the Mountain’s smoking cone. But only a short way ahead its floor and the
walls on either side were cloven by a great fissure, out of which the red glare
came, now leaping up, now dying down into darkness; and all the while far below
there was a rumour and a trouble as of great engines throbbing and labouring.

The light sprang up again, and there on the brink of the chasm, at the very
Crack of Doom, stood Frodo, black against the glare, tense, erect, but still as
if he had been turned to stone.

‘Master!’ cried Sam.

Then Frodo stirred and spoke with a clear voice, indeed with a voice clearer
and more powerful than Sam had ever heard him use, and it rose above the throb
and turmoil of Mount Doom, ringing in the roof and walls.

‘I have come,’ he said. ‘But I do not choose now to do what I came to
do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!’ And suddenly, as he set it on
his finger, he vanished from Sam’s sight. Sam gasped, but he had no chance to
cry out, for at that moment many things happened.

Something struck Sam violently in the back, his legs were knocked from under
him and he was flung aside, striking his head against the stony floor, as a dark
shape sprang over him. He lay still and for a moment all went black.

And far away, as Frodo put on the Ring and claimed it for
his own, even in Sammath Naur the very heart of his realm, the Power in Barad-dûr
was shaken, and the Tower trembled from its foundations to its proud and bitter
crown. The Dark Lord was suddenly aware of him, and his Eye piercing all shadows
looked across the plain to the door that he had made; and the magnitude
of his own folly was revealed to him in a blinding flash, and all the devices of
his enemies were at last laid bare. Then his wrath blazed in consuming flame,
but his fear rose like a vast black smoke to choke him. For he knew his deadly
peril and the thread upon which his doom now hung.

From all his policies and webs of fear and treachery, from all his stratagems
and wars his mind shook free; and throughout his realm a tremor ran, his slaves
quailed, and his armies halted, and his captains suddenly steerless, bereft of
will, wavered and despaired. For they were forgotten. The whole mind and purpose
of the Power that wielded them was now bent with overwhelming force upon the
Mountain. At his summons, wheeling with a rending
cry, in a last desperate race there flew, faster than the winds, the Nazgûl
the Ringwraiths, and with a storm of wings they hurtled southwards to Mount
Doom.

Sam got up. He was dazed, and blood streaming from his head dripped in his
eyes. He groped forward, and then he saw a strange and terrible thing. Gollum on
the edge of the abyss was fighting like a mad thing with an unseen foe. To and
fro he swayed, now so near the brink that almost he tumbled in, now dragging
back, falling to the ground, rising, and falling again. And all the while he
hissed but spoke no words.

The fires below awoke in anger, the red light blazed, and all the cavern was
filled with a great glare and heat. Suddenly Sam saw Gollum’s long hands draw
upwards to his mouth; his white fangs gleamed, and then snapped as they bit.
Frodo gave a cry, and there he was, fallen upon his knees at the chasm’s edge.
But Gollum, dancing like a mad thing, held aloft the ring, a finger still thrust
within its circle. It shone now as if verily it was wrought of living fire.

‘Precious, precious, precious!’ Gollum cried. ‘My Precious! O my
Precious!’ And with that, even as his eyes were lifted up to gloat on his
prize, he stepped too far, toppled, wavered for a moment on the brink, and then
with a shriek he fell. Out of the depths came his last wail Precious, and
he was gone.

There was a roar and a great confusion of noise. Fires leaped up and licked
the roof. The throbbing grew to a great tumult, and the Mountain shook. Sam ran
to Frodo and picked him up and carried him. out to the door. And there upon the
dark threshold of the Sammath Naur, high above the plains of Mordor, such wonder
and terror came on him that he stood still forgetting all else, and gazed as one
turned to stone.

A brief vision he had of swirling cloud, and in the midst of it towers and
battlements, tall as hills, founded upon a mighty mountain-throne above
immeasurable pits; great courts and dungeons, eyeless prisons sheer as cliffs,
and gaping gates of steel and adamant: and then all passed. Towers fell and
mountains slid; walls crumbled and melted, crashing down; vast spires of smoke
and spouting steams went billowing up, up, until they toppled like an
overwhelming wave, and its wild crest curled and came foaming down upon the
land. And then at last over the miles between there came a rumble, rising to a
deafening crash and roar; the earth shook, the plain heaved and cracked, and
Orodruin reeled. Fire belched from its riven summit. The skies burst into
thunder seared with lightning. Down like lashing
whips fell a torrent of black rain. And into the heart of the storm, with a cry
that pierced all other sounds, tearing the clouds asunder, the Nazgûl
came, shooting like flaming bolts, as caught in the fiery ruin of hill
and sky they crackled, withered, and went out.

‘Well, this is the end, Sam Gamgee,’ said a voice by his side. And there
was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again; and in his eyes there was peace
now, neither strain of will, nor madness, nor any fear. His burden was taken
away. There was the dear master of the sweet days in the Shire.

‘Master!’ cried Sam. and fell upon his knees. In all that ruin of the
world for the moment he felt only joy, great joy. The burden was gone. His
master had been saved; he was himself again, he was free. And then Sam caught
sight of the maimed and bleeding hand.

‘Your poor hand!’ he said. ‘And I have nothing to bind it with, or
comfort it. I would have spared him a whole hand of mine rather. But he’s gone
now beyond recall, gone for ever.’

‘Yes,’ said Frodo. ‘But do you remember Gandalf’s words: Even
Gollum may have something yet to do? But for him, Sam, I could not have
destroyed the Ring. The Quest would have been in vain, even at the bitter end.
So let us forgive him! For the Quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad
you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam.’

Chapter 4

The Field of Cormallen

All about the hills the hosts of Mordor raged. The Captains of the West were
foundering in a gathering sea. The sun gleamed red,
and under the wings of the Nazgûl the shadows of death fell dark upon the
earth. Aragorn stood beneath his banner, silent and stern, as one lost in
thought of things long past or far away; but his eyes gleamed like stars that
shine the brighter as the night deepens. Upon the hill-top stood Gandalf,
and he was white and cold and no shadow fell on him. The onslaught of Mordor
broke like a wave on the beleaguered hills, voices roaring like a tide amid the
wreck and crash of arms.

As if to his eyes some sudden vision had been given, Gandalf stirred; and he
turned, looking back north where the skies were pale and clear. Then he lifted
up his hands and cried in a loud voice ringing above the din: The Eagles are
coming! And many voices answered crying: The Eagles are coming! The
Eagles are coming! The hosts of Mordor looked up and wondered what this sign
might mean.

There came Gwaihir the Windlord, and Landroval his brother, greatest of all
the Eagles of the North, mightiest of the descendants of old Thorondor, who
built his eyries in the inaccessible peaks of the Encircling Mountains when
Middle-earth was young. Behind them in long swift lines came all their vassals
from the northern mountains, speeding on a gathering wind. Straight down upon the
Nazgûl they bore, stooping suddenly out of the high airs, and the rush of
their wide wings as they passed over was like a gale.

But the Nazgûl turned and fled, and vanished into Mordor’s shadows,
hearing a sudden terrible call out of the Dark Tower; and even at that
moment all the hosts of Mordor trembled, doubt clutched their hearts, their
laughter failed, their hands shook and their limbs were loosed. The Power that
drove them on and filled them with hate and fury was wavering, its will was
removed from them; and now looking in the eyes of their enemies they saw a
deadly light and were afraid.

Then all the Captains of the West cried aloud, for their hearts were filled
with a new hope in the midst of darkness. Out from the beleaguered hills knights
of Gondor, Riders of Rohan, Dúnedain of the
North, close-serried companies, drove against their wavering foes, piercing the
press with the thrust of bitter spears. But Gandalf lifted up his arms and
called once more in a clear voice:

‘Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom.’

And even as he spoke the earth rocked beneath their feet. Then rising swiftly
up, far above the Towers of the Black Gate, high above the mountains, a vast
soaring darkness sprang into the sky, flickering with fire. The earth groaned
and quaked. The Towers of the Teeth swayed, tottered, and fell down; the mighty
rampart crumbled; the Black Gate was hurled in ruin; and from far away, now dim,
now growing, now mounting to the clouds, there came a drumming rumble, a roar, a
long echoing roll of ruinous noise.

‘The realm of Sauron is ended!’ said Gandalf. ‘The Ring-bearer has
fulfilled his Quest.’ And as the Captains gazed south to the Land of Mordor,
it seemed to them that, black against the pall of cloud, there rose a huge shape
of shadow, impenetrable, lightning-crowned, filling all the sky. Enormous it
reared above the world, and stretched out towards them a vast threatening hand,
terrible but impotent: for even as it leaned over them, a great wind took it,
and it was all blown away, and passed; and then a hush fell.

The Captains bowed their heads; and when they looked up again, behold! their
enemies were flying and the power of Mordor was scattering like dust in the
wind. As when death smites the swollen brooding thing that inhabits their
crawling hill and holds them all in sway, ants will wander witless and
purposeless and then feebly die, so the creatures of Sauron, orc or troll or
beast spell-enslaved, ran hither and thither mindless; and some slew themselves,
or cast themselves in pits, or fled wailing back to
hide in holes and dark lightless places far from hope. But the Men of Rhûn
and of Harad, Easterling and Southron, saw the ruin of their war and the great
majesty and glory of the Captains of the West. And those that were
deepest and longest in evil servitude, hating the West, and yet were men proud
and bold, in their turn now gathered themselves for a last stand of desperate
battle. But the most part fled eastward as they could; and some cast their
weapons down and sued for mercy.

Then Gandalf, leaving all such matters of battle and command to Aragorn and
the other lords, stood upon the hill-top and called; and down to him came the
great eagle, Gwaihir the Windlord, and stood before him.

‘Twice you have borne me, Gwaihir my friend,’ said Gandalf. ‘Thrice
shall pay for all, if you are willing. You will not find me a burden much
greater than when you bore me from Zirak-zigil, where my old life burned
away.’

‘I would bear you,’ answered Gwaihir, ‘whither you will, even were you
made of stone.’

‘Then come, and let your brother go with us, and some other of your folk
who is most swift! For we have need of speed greater than any wind, outmatching
the wings of the Nazgûl.’

‘The North Wind blows, but we shall outfly it,’ said
Gwaihir. And he lifted up Gandalf and sped away south, and with him went
Landroval, and Meneldor young and swift. And they passed over Udûn and
Gorgoroth and saw all the land in ruin and tumult beneath them, and before them
Mount Doom blazing, pouring out its fire.

‘I am glad that you are here with me,’ said Frodo. ‘Here at the end of
all things, Sam.’

‘Yes, I am with you, Master,’ said Sam, laying Frodo’s wounded hand
gently to his breast. ‘And you’re with me. And the journey’s finished. But
after coming all that way I don’t want to give up yet. It’s not like me,
somehow, if you understand.’

‘Maybe not, Sam,’ said Frodo; ‘but it’s like things are in the world.
Hopes fail. An end comes. We have only a little time to wait now. We are lost in
ruin and downfall, and there is no escape.’

‘Well, Master, we could at least go further from this dangerous place here,
from this Crack of Doom, if that’s its name. Now couldn’t we? Come, Mr.
Frodo, let’s go down the path at any rate!’

‘Very well, Sam. If you wish to go, I’ll come,’ said Frodo; and they
rose and went slowly down the winding road; and even as they passed towards the
Mountain’s quaking feet, a great smoke and steam belched from the Sammath
Naur, and the side of the cone was riven open, and a huge fiery vomit rolled in
slow thunderous cascade down the eastern mountain-side.

Frodo and Sam could go no further. Their last strength of mind and body was
swiftly ebbing. They had reached a low ashen hill piled at the Mountain’s
foot; but from it there was no more escape. It was an island now, not long to
endure, amid the torment of Orodruin. All about it the earth gaped, and from
deep rifts and pits smoke and fumes leaped up. Behind them the Mountain was
convulsed. Great rents opened in its side. Slow rivers of fire came down the
long slopes towards them. Soon they would be engulfed. A rain of hot ash was
falling.

They stood now; and Sam still holding his master’s hand caressed it. He
sighed. ‘What a tale we have been in, Mr. Frodo, haven’t we?’ he said.
‘I wish I could hear it told! Do you think they’ll say: Now comes the
story of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom? And then everyone will
hush, like we did, when in Rivendell they told us the tale of Beren One-hand and
the Great Jewel. I wish I could hear it! And I wonder how it will go on after
our part.’

But even while he spoke so, to keep fear away until the very last, his eyes
still strayed north, north into the eye of the wind, to where the sky far off
was clear, as the cold blast, rising to a gale, drove back the darkness and the
ruin of the clouds.

And so it was that Gwaihir saw them with his keen far-seeing eyes, as down the
wild wind he came, and daring the great peril of the skies he circled in the
air: two small dark figures, forlorn, hand in hand upon a little hill, while the
world shook under them, and gasped, and rivers of fire drew near. And even as he
espied them and came swooping down, he saw them fall, worn out, or choked with
fumes and heat, or stricken down by despair at last, hiding their eyes from
death.

Side by side they lay; and down swept Gwaihir, and down came Landroval and
Meneldor the swift; and in a dream, not knowing what fate had befallen them, the
wanderers were lifted up and borne far away out of the darkness and the fire.

When Sam awoke, he found that he was lying on some soft bed, but over him
gently swayed wide beechen boughs, and through their young leaves sunlight
glimmered, green and gold. All the air was full of a sweet mingled scent.

He remembered that smell: the fragrance of Ithilien. ‘Bless me!’ he
mused. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ For the scent had borne him back to
the day when he had lit his little fire under the sunny bank; and for a moment
all else between was out of waking memory. He stretched and drew a deep breath.
‘Why, what a dream I’ve had!’ he muttered. ‘I am glad to wake!’ He sat
up and then he saw that Frodo was lying beside him, and slept peacefully, one
hand behind his head, and the other resting upon the coverlet. It was the right
hand, and the third finger was missing.

Full memory flooded back, and Sam cried aloud: ‘It wasn’t a dream! Then
where are we?’

And a voice spoke softly behind: ‘In the land of Ithilien, and in the
keeping of the King; and he awaits you.’ With that Gandalf stood before him,
robed in white, his beard now gleaming like pure snow in the twinkling of the
leafy sunlight. ‘Well, Master Samwise, how do you feel?’ he said.

But Sam lay back, and stared with open mouth, and for a moment, between
bewilderment and great joy, he could not answer. At last he gasped: ‘Gandalf!
I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad
going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?’

‘A great Shadow has departed,’ said Gandalf, and then he laughed and the
sound was like music, or like water in a parched land; and as he listened the
thought came to Sam that he had not heard laughter, the pure sound of merriment,
for days upon days without count. It fell upon his ears like the echo of all the
joys he had ever known. But he himself burst into tears. Then, as a sweet rain
will pass down a wind of spring and the sun will shine out the clearer, his
tears ceased, and his laughter welled up, and laughing he sprang from his bed.

‘How do I feel?’ he cried. ‘Well, I don’t know how to say it. I feel,
I feel’ - he waved his arms in the air - ‘I feel like spring after winter,
and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever
heard!’ He stopped and he turned towards his master. ‘But how’s Mr.
Frodo?’ he said. ‘Isn’t it a shame about his poor hand? But I hope he’s
all right otherwise. He’s had a cruel time.’

‘Yes, I am all right otherwise,’ said Frodo, sitting up and laughing in
his turn. I fell asleep again waiting for you, Sam, you sleepyhead. I was awake
early this morning, and now it must be nearly noon.’

‘Noon?’ said Sam, trying to calculate. ‘Noon of what day?’

‘The fourteenth of the New Year,’ said Gandalf; ‘or if you like, the
eighth day of April in the Shire reckoning.« But
in Gondor the New Year will always now begin upon the twenty-fifth of March when
Sauron fell, and when you were brought out of the fire to the King. He has
tended you, and now he awaits you. You shall eat and drink with him. When you
are ready I will lead you to him.’

‘The King?’ said Sam. ‘What king, and who is he?’

‘The King of Gondor and Lord of the Western Lands,’ said Gandalf ‘and
he has taken back all his ancient realm. He will ride soon to his crowning, but
he waits for you.’

‘What shall we wear?’ said Sam; for all he could see was the old and
tattered clothes that they had journeyed in, lying folded on the ground beside
their beds.

‘The clothes that you wore on your way to Mordor,’ said Gandalf. ‘Even
the orc-rags that you bore in the black land; Frodo, shall be preserved. No
silks and linens, nor any armour or heraldry could be more honourable. But later
I will find some other clothes, perhaps.’

Then he held out his hands to them, and they saw that one shone with light.
‘What have you got there?’ Frodo cried. ‘Can it be - ?’

‘Yes, I have brought your two treasures. They were found on Sam when you
were rescued. The Lady Galadriel’s gifts: your glass, Frodo, and your box,
Sam. You will be glad to have these safe again.’

When they were washed and clad, and had eaten a light meal, the Hobbits
followed Gandalf. They stepped out of the beech-grove in which they had lain,
and passed on to a long green lawn, glowing in sunshine, bordered by stately
dark-leaved trees laden with scarlet blossom. Behind them they could hear the
sound of falling water, and a stream ran down before them between flowering
banks, until it came to a greenwood at the lawn’s foot and passed then on
under an archway of trees, through which they saw the shimmer of water far away.

As they came to the opening in the wood, they were surprised to see knights
in bright mail and tall guards in silver and black standing there, who greeted
them with honour and bowed before them. And then one blew a long trumpet, and
they went on through the aisle of trees beside the singing stream. So they came
to a wide green land, and beyond it was a broad river in a silver haze, out of
which rose a long wooded isle, and many ships lay by its shores. But on the
field where they now stood a great host was drawn up, in ranks and companies
glittering in the sun. And as the Hobbits approached swords were unsheathed, and
spears were shaken, and horns and trumpets sang, and men cried with many voices
and in many tongues:

‘Long live the Halflings! Praise them with great praise!

Cuio i Pheriain anann! Aglar’ni Pheriannath!

Praise them with great praise, Frodo and Samwise!

Daur a Berhael, Conin en Annûn! Eglerio!

Praise them!

Eglerio!

A laita te, laita te! Andave laituvalmet!

Praise them!

Cormacolindor, a laita tárienna!

Praise them! The Ring-bearers, praise them with great praise!’

And so the red blood blushing in their faces and their eyes shining with
wonder, Frodo and Sam went forward and saw that amidst the clamorous host were
set three high-seats built of green turves. Behind the seat upon the right
floated, white on green, a great horse running free; upon the left was a banner,
silver upon blue, a ship swan-prowed faring on the sea; but behind the highest
throne in the midst of all a great standard was spread in the breeze, and there
a white tree flowered upon a sable field beneath a shining crown and seven
glittering stars. On the throne sat a mail-clad man, a great sword was laid
across his knees, but he wore no helm. As they drew near he rose. And then they
knew him, changed as he was, so high and glad of face, kingly, lord of Men,
dark-haired with eyes of grey.

Frodo ran to meet him, and Sam followed close behind. ‘Well, if that
isn’t the crown of all!’ he said. ‘Strider, or I’m still asleep!’

‘Yes, Sam, Strider,’ said Aragorn. ‘It is a long way, is it not, from
Bree, where you did not like the look of me? A long way for us all but yours has
been the darkest road.’

And then to Sam’s surprise and utter confusion he bowed his knee before
them; and taking them by the hand, Frodo upon his right and Sam upon his left,
he led them to the throne, and setting them upon it, he turned to the men and
captains who stood by and spoke, so that his voice rang over all the host,
crying:

‘Praise them with great praise!’

And when the glad shout had swelled up and died away again, to Sam’s final
and complete satisfaction and pure joy, a minstrel of Gondor stood forth, and
knelt, and begged leave to sing. And behold! he said:

‘Lo! lords and knights and men of valour unashamed, kings and princes, and
fair people of Gondor, and Riders of Rohan, and ye
sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and Dwarf, and
greathearts of the Shire, and all free folk of the West, now listen to my lay.
For I will sing to you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom.’

And when Sam heard that he laughed aloud for sheer delight, and he stood up
and cried: ‘O great glory and splendour! And all my wishes have come true!’
And then he wept.

And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and
tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men
were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of
the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their
joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and
delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.

And at the last, as the Sun fell from the noon and the shadows of the trees
lengthened, he ended. ‘Praise them with great praise!’ he said and knelt.
And then Aragorn stood up, and all the host arose, and they passed to pavilions
made ready, to eat and drink and make merry while the day lasted.

Frodo and Sam were led apart and brought to a tent, and there their old
raiment was taken off, but folded and set aside with honour; and clean linen was
given to them. Then Gandalf came and in his arms, to the wonder of Frodo, he
bore the sword and the elven-cloak and the mithril-coat that had been taken from
him in Mordor. For Sam he brought a coat of gilded mail, and his elven-cloak all
healed of the soils and hurts that it had suffered; and then he laid before them
two swords.

‘I do not wish for any sword,’ said Frodo.

‘Tonight at least you should wear one,’ said Gandalf.

Then Frodo took the small sword that had belonged to Sam, and had been laid
at his side in Cirith Ungol. ‘Sting I gave to you Sam,’ he said.

‘No, master! Mr. Bilbo gave it to you, and it goes with his silver coat; he
would not wish anyone else to wear it now.’

Frodo gave way; and Gandalf, as if he were their
esquire, knelt and girt the sword-belts about them, and then rising he set
circlets of silver upon their heads. And when they were arrayed they went to the
great feast; and they sat at the King’s table with Gandalf, and King Éomer
of Rohan, and the Prince Imrahil and all the chief captains; and there
also were Gimli and Legolas.

But when, after the Standing Silence, wine was brought there came in two
esquires to serve the kings; or so they seemed to be: one was clad in the silver
and sable of the Guards of Minas Tirith, and the other in white and green. But
Sam wondered what such young boys were doing in an army of mighty men. Then
suddenly as they drew near and he could see them plainly, he exclaimed:

‘Why, look Mr. Frodo! Look here! Well, if it isn’t Pippin. Mr. Peregrin
Took I should say, and Mr. Merry! How they have grown! Bless me! But I can see
there’s more tales to tell than ours.’

‘There are indeed,’ said Pippin turning towards him. ‘And we’ll begin
telling them, as soon as this feast is ended. In the meantime you can try
Gandalf. He’s not so close as he used to be, though he laughs now more than he
talks. For the present Merry and I are busy. We are knights of the City and of
the Mark, as I hope you observe.’

At last the glad day ended; and when the Sun was gone and the round Moon rode
slowly above the mists of Anduin and flickered through the fluttering leaves,
Frodo and Sam sat under the whispering trees amid the fragrance of fair
Ithilien; and they talked deep into the night with Merry and Pippin and Gandalf,
and after a while Legolas and Gimli joined them. There Frodo and Sam learned
much of all that had happened to the Company after their fellowship was broken
on the evil day at Parth Galen by Rauros Falls; and still there was always more
to ask and more to tell.

Orcs, and talking trees, and leagues of grass, and galloping riders. and
glittering caves, and white towers and golden halls, and battles, and tall ships
sailing, all these passed before Sam’s mind until he felt bewildered. But
amidst all these wonders he returned always to his astonishment at the size of
Merry and Pippin; and he made them stand back to back with Frodo and himself. He
scratched his head. ‘Can’t understand it at your age!’ he said. ‘But
there it is: you’re three inches taller than you ought to he, or I’m a
dwarf.’

‘That you certainly are not,’ said Gimli. ‘But what did I say? Mortals
cannot go drinking ent-draughts and expect no more to come of them than of a pot
of beer.’

‘Ent-draughts?’ said Sam. ‘There you go about Ents again; but what they
are beats me. Why, it will take weeks before we get all these things sized
up!’

‘Weeks indeed,’ said Pippin. ‘And then Frodo will have to be locked up
in a tower in Minas Tirith and write it all down. Otherwise he will forget half
of it, and poor old Bilbo will be dreadfully disappointed.’

At length Gandalf rose. ‘The hands of the King are hands of healing, dear
friends,’ he said. ‘But you went to the very brink of death ere he recalled
you, putting forth all his power, and sent you into the sweet forgetfulness of
sleep. And though you have indeed slept long and blessedly, still it is now time
to sleep again.’

And not only Sam and Frodo here, said Gimli, but you too, Pippin. I love you,
if only because of the pains you have cost me, which I shall never forget. Nor
shall I forget finding you on the hill of the last battle. But for Gimli the
Dwarf you would have been lost then. But at least I know now the look of a
hobbit’s foot, though it be all that can be seen under a heap of bodies. And
when I heaved that great carcase off you, I made sure you were dead. I could
have. torn out my beard. And it is only a day yet since you were first up and
abroad again. To bed now you go. And so shall I.’

‘And I,’ said Legolas, ‘shall walk in the woods of this fair land,
which is rest enough. In days to come, if my Elven-lord allows, some of our folk
shall remove hither; and when we come it shall be blessed, for a while. For a
while: a month, a life, a hundred years of Men. But Anduin is near, and Anduin
leads down to the Sea. To the Sea!

To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,

The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.

West, west away, the round sun is falling.

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling.

The voices of my people that have gone before me?

I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;

For our days are ending and our years failing.

I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,

Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,

In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,

Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!’

And so singing Legolas went away down the hill.

Then the others also departed, and Frodo and Sam went to their beds and
slept. And in the morning they rose again in hope
and peace; and they spent many days in Ithilien. For the Field of Cormallen,
where the host was now encamped was near to Henneth Annûn, and the stream
that flowed from its falls could be heard in the night as it rushed down
through its rocky gate, and passed through the flowery meads into the tides of
Anduin by the Isle of Cair Andros. The hobbits wandered here and there visiting
again the places that they had passed before; and Sam hoped always in some
shadow of the woods or secret glade to catch, maybe, a glimpse of the great
Oliphaunt. And when he learned that at the siege of Gondor there had been a
great number of these beasts but that they were all destroyed, he thought it a
sad loss.

‘Well, one can’t be everywhere at once, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But I
missed a lot, seemingly.’

In the meanwhile the host made ready for the return to Minas Tirith. The
weary rested and the hurt were healed. For some had laboured and fought much
with the remnants of the Easterlings and Southrons, until all were subdued. And,
latest of all, those returned who had passed into Mordor and destroyed the
fortresses in the north of the land.

But at the last when the month of May was drawing near the Captains of the
West set out again; and they went aboard ship with all their men, and they
sailed from Cair Andros down Anduin to Osgiliath; and there they remained for
one day; and the day after they came to the green fields of the Pelennor and saw
again the white towers under tall Mindolluin, the City of the Men of Gondor,
last memory of Westernesse, that had passed through the darkness and fire to a
new day.

And there in the midst of the fields they set up their pavilions and awaited
the morning; for it was the Eve of May, and the King would enter his gates with
the rising of the Sun.

Chapter 5

The Steward and the King

Over the city of Gondor doubt and great dread had hung. Fair weather and
clear sun had seemed but a mockery to men whose days held little hope, and who
looked each morning for news of doom. Their lord was dead and burned, dead lay
the King of Rohan in their citadel, and the new king that had come to them in
the night was gone again to a war with powers too dark and terrible for any
might or valour to conquer. And no news came. After the host left Morgul Vale
and took the northward road beneath the shadow of the mountains no messenger had
returned nor any rumour of what was passing in the brooding East.

When the Captains were but two days gone, the Lady Éowyn bade the
women who tended her to bring her raiment, and she would not be gainsaid,
but rose; and when they had clothed her and set her arm in a sling of linen, she
went to the Warden of the Houses of Healing.

‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in
sloth.’

‘Lady,’ he answered, ‘you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to
tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven
days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back.’

‘I am healed,’ she said, ‘healed at least in body, save my left arm
only, and that is at ease. But I shall sicken anew, if there is naught that I
can do. Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing.’

‘There are no tidings,’ said the Warden, ‘save that the Lords have
ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is
their chief. A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing
strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus
in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years
we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though
we should still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of
hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them.’

It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two,
Master Warden, answered Éowyn. ‘And those who have not swords can still
die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the
Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is
it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted,
in this dark hour I would choose the latter.’

The Warden looked at her. Tall she stood there, her eyes bright in her white
face, her hand clenched as she turned and gazed out of his window that opened to
the East. He sighed and shook his head. After a pause she turned to him again.

‘Is there no deed to do?’ she said. ‘Who commands in this City?’

‘I do not rightly know,’ he answered. ‘Such things are not my care.
There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan; and
the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord
Faramir is by right the Steward of the City.’

‘Where can I find him?’

‘In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way
to health. But I do not know-‘

‘Will you not bring me to him? Then you will know.’

The Lord Faramir was walking alone in the garden of the Houses of Healing,
and the sunlight warmed him, and he felt life run new in his veins; but his
heart was heavy, and he looked out over the walls
eastward. And coming, the Warden spoke his name, and he turned and saw the Lady
Éowyn of Rohan; and he was moved with pity, for he saw that she was hurt,
and his clear sight perceived her sorrow and unrest.

‘My lord,’ said the Warden, ‘here is the
Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the king and was sorely hurt, and
dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak to the
Steward of the City.’

‘Do not misunderstand him, lord,’ said Éowyn. ‘It is not lack of
care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to
be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle.
But I have not died, and battle still goes on.’

At a sign from Faramir, the Warden bowed and departed. ‘What would you have
me do, lady?’ said Faramir. ‘I also am a prisoner of the healers.’ He
looked at her, and being a man whom pity deeply stirred, it seemed to him that
her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. And she looked at him and
saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew, for she was bred among men
of war, that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.

‘What do you wish?’ he said again. ‘If it lies in my power, I will do
it.’

‘I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go,’ she said;
but though her words were still proud, her heart faltered, and for the first
time she doubted herself. She guessed that this tall man, both stern and gentle,
might think her merely wayward, like a child that has not the firmness of mind
to go on with a dull task to the end.

‘I myself am in the Warden’s keeping,’ answered Faramir. ‘Nor have I
yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen
to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in
some great need.’

‘But I do not desire healing,’ she said. ‘I wish to ride to war like my
brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and
has both honour and peace.’

‘It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the
strength,’ said Faramir. ‘But death in battle may come to us all yet,
willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner,
if while there is still time you do as the Healer commanded. You and I, we must
endure with patience the hours of waiting.’

She did not answer, but as he looked at her it seemed to him that something
in her softened, as though a bitter frost were yielding at the first faint
presage of Spring. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a
glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little. Then quietly, more as if
speaking to herself than to him: ‘But the healers would have me lie abed seven
days yet,’ she said. ‘And my window does not look eastward.’ Her voice was
now that of a maiden young and sad.

Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. ‘Your window does
not look eastward?’ he said. ‘That can be amended. In this I will command
the Warden. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your
rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall
look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking
and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to
me, or walk at whiles with me.’

Then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes again; and a colour came
in her pale face. ‘How should I ease your care, my lord?’ she said. ‘And I
do not desire the speech of living men.’

‘Would you have my plain answer?’ he said.

‘I would.’

‘Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful.
In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens
fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so
lovely, and so sorrowful. It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness
falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would
ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I
have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us
back.’

‘Alas, not me, lord!’ she said. ‘Shadow lies on me still. Look not to
me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for
this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the
grace of the Steward of the City.’ And she did him a courtesy and walked back
to the house. But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden, and his
glance now strayed rather to the house than to the eastward walls.

When he returned to his chamber he called for the Warden, and heard all that
he could tell of the Lady of Rohan.

‘But I doubt not, lord,’ said the Warden, ‘that you would learn more
from the Halfling that is with us; for he was in the riding of the king, and
with the Lady at the end, they say.’

And so Merry was sent to Faramir, and while that
day lasted they talked long together, and Faramir learned much, more even than
Merry put into words; and he thought that he understood now something of the
grief and unrest of Éowyn of Rohan. And in the fair evening Faramir
and Merry walked in the garden, but she did not come.

But in the morning, as Faramir came from the Houses, he saw her, as she stood
upon the walls; and she was clad all in white, and gleamed in the sun. And he
called to her, and she came down, and they walked on the grass or sat under a
green tree together, now in silence, now in speech. And each day after they did
likewise. And the Warden looking from his window was glad in heart. for he was a
healer. and his care was lightened; and certain it was that, heavy as was the
dread and foreboding of those days upon the hearts of men, still these two of
his charges prospered and grew daily in strength.

And so the fifth day came since the Lady Éowyn went first to Faramir;
and they stood now together once more upon the walls of the City and
looked out. No tidings had yet come, and all hearts were darkened. The weather,
too, was bright no longer. It was cold. A wind that had sprung up in the night
was blowing now keenly from the North, and it was rising; but the lands about
looked grey and drear.

They were clad in warm raiment and heavy cloaks, and over all the Lady
Éowyn wore a great blue mantle of the colour of deep summer-night, and it
was set with silver stars about hem and throat. Faramir had sent for this
robe and had wrapped it about her; and he thought that she looked fair and
queenly indeed as she stood there at his side. The mantle was wrought for his
mother, Finduilas of Amroth, who died untimely, and was to him but a memory of
loveliness in far days and of his first grief; and
her robe seemed to him raiment fitting for the beauty and sadness of Éowyn.

But she now shivered beneath the starry mantle, and she looked northward,
above the grey hither lands, into the eye of the cold wind where far away the
sky was hard and clear.

‘What do you look for, Éowyn?’ said Faramir.

‘Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?’ said she. ‘And must he not now be
come thither? It is seven days since he rode away.’

‘Seven days,’ said Faramir. ‘But think not ill of me, if I say to
you: they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know.
Joy to see you; but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are
grown dark indeed. Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so
soon what I have found.’

‘Lose what you have found, lord?’ she answered; but she looked at him
gravely and her eyes were kind. ‘I know not what in these days you have found
that you could lose. But come, my friend, let us not speak of it! Let us not
speak at all! I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the
abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell.
For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.’

‘Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom,’ said Faramir. And they said no
more; and it seemed to them as they stood upon the wall that the wind died, and
the light failed, and the Sun was bleared, and all sounds in the City or in the
lands about were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of
leaf, nor their own breath could be heard; the very beating of their hearts was
stilled. Time halted.

And as they stood so, their hands met and clasped, though they did not know
it. And still they waited for they knew not what. Then presently it seemed to
them that above the ridges of the distant mountains another vast mountain of
darkness rose, towering up like a wave that should engulf the world, and about
it lightnings flickered; and then a tremor ran through the earth, and they felt
the walls of the City quiver. A sound like a sigh went up from all the lands
about them; and their hearts beat suddenly again.

‘It reminds me of Númenor,’ said Faramir, and wondered to hear
himself speak.

‘Of Númenor?’ said Éowyn.

‘Yes,’ said Faramir, ‘of the land of Westernesse that foundered and of
the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and
coming on, darkness unescapable. I often dream of it.’

‘Then you think that the Darkness is coming?’ said Éowyn.
‘Darkness Unescapable?’ And suddenly she drew close to him.

‘No,’ said Faramir, looking into her face. ‘It was but a picture in the
mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me
that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says
nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy
are come to me that no reason can deny. Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady
of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!’ And he
stooped and kissed her brow.

And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose
and blew, and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out mingling in the air.
And the Shadow departed, and the Sun was unveiled, and light leaped forth; and
the waters of Anduin shone like silver, and in all the houses of the City men
sang for the joy that welled up in their hearts from what source they could not
tell.

And before the Sun had fallen far from the noon out of the East there came a
great Eagle flying, and he bore tidings beyond hope from the Lords of the West,
crying:

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,

for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,

and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,

for your watch hath not been in vain,

and the Black Gate is broken,

and your King hath passed through,

and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,

for your King shall come again,

and he shall dwell among you

all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,

and he shall plant it in the high places,

and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!

And the people sang in all the ways of the City.

The days that followed were golden, and Spring and Summer joined and made
revel together in the fields of Gondor. And tidings now came by swift riders
from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of
the King. Merry was summoned and rode away with the wains that took store of
goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros; but Faramir did not go,
for now being healed he took upon him his authority and the Stewardship,
although it was only for a little while, and his duty was to prepare for one who
should replace him.

And Éowyn did not go, though her brother sent word begging her to come
to the field of Cormallen. And Faramir wondered at this, but he saw her
seldom, being busy with many matters; and she dwelt still in the Houses of
Healing and walked alone in the garden, and her face grew pale again, and it
seemed that in all the City she only was ailing and sorrowful. And the Warden of
the Houses was troubled, and he spoke to Faramir.

Then Faramir came and sought her, and once more they stood on the walls
together; and he said to her: ‘Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not
go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother
awaits you?’

And she said: ‘Do you not know?’

But he answered: ‘Two reasons there may be, but which is true, l do not
know.’

And she said: ‘I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!’

‘Then if you will have it so, lady,’ he said: ‘you do not go, because
only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil’s
heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy. Or because I do not go, and you
desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons,
and you yourself cannot choose between them. Éowyn, do you not love me,
or will you not?’

‘I wished to be loved by another,’ she answered. ‘But I desire no
man’s pity.’

‘That I know,’ he said. ‘You desired to have the love of the Lord
Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and
glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as
a great captain may to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is,
a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But
when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing,
unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Éowyn!’

And Éowyn looked at Faramir long and steadily; and Faramir said: ‘Do
not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn! But I do not
offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won
renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond
even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your
sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the
blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love
me?’

Then the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it.
And suddenly her winter passed, and the sun shone on her.

I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun, she said; and behold the Shadow
has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders,
nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all
things that grow and are not barren.’ And again she looked at Faramir. ‘No
longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said.

Then Faramir laughed merrily. ‘That is well,’ he said; ‘for I am not a
king. Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she
will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair
Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the
White Lady comes.’

‘Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?’ she said. ‘And would
you have your proud folk say of you: “There goes
a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the
race of Númenor to choose?”’

‘I would,’ said Faramir. And he took her in his arms and kissed her under
the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the
sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them as
they came down from the walls and went hand in hand to the Houses of Healing.

And to the Warden of the Houses Faramir said:
‘Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed.’

And the Warden said: ‘Then I release her from my charge and bid her
farewell, and may she suffer never hurt nor sickness again. I commend her to the
care of the Steward of the City, until her brother returns.’

But Éowyn said: ‘Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would
remain. For this House has become to me of all dwellings the most blessed.’
And she remained there until King Éomer came.

All things were now made ready in the City; and there was great concourse of
people, for the tidings had gone out into all parts of Gondor, from Min-Rimmon
even to Pinnath Gelin and the far coasts of the sea; and all that could come to
the City made haste to come. And the City was filled again with women and fair
children that returned to their homes laden with flowers; and from Dol Amroth
came the harpers that harped most skilfully in all the land; and there were
players upon viols and upon flutes and upon horns of silver, and clear-voiced
singers from the vales of Lebennin.

At last an evening came when from the walls the pavilions could be seen upon
the field, and all night lights were burning as men watched for the dawn. And
when the sun rose in the clear morning above the mountains in the East, upon
which shadows lay no more, then all the bells rang, and all the banners broke
and flowed in the wind; and upon the White Tower of the citadel the standard of
the Stewards, bright argent like snow in the sun, bearing no charge nor device,
was raised over Gondor for the last time.

Now the Captains of the West led their host towards the City, and folk saw
them advance in line upon line, flashing and glinting in the sunrise and
rippling like silver. And so they came before the Gateway and halted a furlong
from the walls. As yet no gates had been set up
again, but a barrier was laid across the entrance to the City, and there stood
men at arms in silver and black with long swords drawn. Before the barrier stood
Faramir the Steward, and Húrin Warden of the Keys, and other captains of
Gondor, and the Lady Éowyn of Rohan with Elfhelm the Marshal and many
knights of the Mark; and upon either side of the Gate was a great press of fair
people in raiment of many colours and garlands of flowers.

So now there was a wide space before the walls
of Minas Tirith, and it was hemmed in upon all sides by the knights and the
soldiers of Gondor and of Rohan, and by the people of the City and of all parts
of the land. A hush fell upon all as out from the host stepped the Dúnedain
in silver and grey; and before them came walking slow the Lord Aragorn.
He was clad in black mail girt with silver, and he wore a long mantle of pure
white clasped at the throat with a great jewel of green that shone from afar;
but his head was bare save for a star upon his
forehead bound by a slender fillet of silver. With him were Éomer of
Rohan, and the Prince Imrahil, and Gandalf robed all in white, and four small
figures that many men marvelled to see.

‘Nay, cousin! they are not boys,’ said Ioreth to her kinswoman from
Imloth Melui, who stood beside her. ‘Those are Periain, out of the far
country of the Halflings, where they are princes of great fame, it is said. I
should know, for I had one to tend in the Houses. They are small, but they are
valiant. Why, cousin, one of them went with only his esquire into the Black
Country and fought with the Dark Lord all by himself, and set fire to his Tower,
if you can believe it. At least that is the tale in the City. That will be the
one that walks with our Elfstone. They are dear friends, I hear. Now he is a
marvel, the Lord Elfstone: not too soft in his speech, mind you, but he has a
golden heart, as the saying is; and he has the healing hands. “The hands of
the king are the hands of a healer”, I said; and that was how it was all
discovered. And Mithrandir, he said to me: “Ioreth, men will long remember
your words”, and-‘

But Ioreth was not permitted to continue the instruction of her kinswoman
from the country, for a single trumpet rang, and a dead silence followed. Then
forth from the Gate went Faramir with Húrin of the Keys, and no others,
save that behind them walked four men in the high helms and armour of the
Citadel, and they bore a great casket of black lebethron bound
with silver.

Faramir met Aragorn in the midst of those there assembled, and he knelt, and
said: ‘The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office.’ And
he held out a white rod; but Aragorn took the rod and gave it back, saying:
‘That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs’ as long as
my line shall last. Do now thy office!’

Then Faramir stood up and spoke in a clear voice: ‘Men of Gondor hear now
the Steward of this Realm! Behold! one has come to claim the kingship again at
last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of
the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the
Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose
hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s
son, Elendil’s son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into
the City and dwell there?’

And all the host and all the people cried yea with one voice.

And Ioreth said to her kinswoman: ‘This is just a ceremony such as we have
in the City, cousin; for he has already entered, as I was telling you; and he
said to me-‘ And then again she was obliged to silence, for Faramir spoke
again.

‘Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the
king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not
be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb
where he was laid. But since things must now be done otherwise, using the
authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the
crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our
longfathers of old.’

Then the guards stepped forward, and Faramir opened the casket, and he held
up an ancient crown. It was shaped like the helms of the Guards of the Citadel,
save that it was loftier, and it was all white, and the wings at either side
were wrought of pearl and silver in the likeness of the wings of a sea-bird, for
it was the emblem of kings who came over the Sea; and seven gems of adamant were
set in the circlet, and upon its summit was set a single jewel the light of
which went up like a flame.

And those were the words that Elendil spoke when he came up out of the Sea on
the wings of the wind: ‘Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In
this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.’

Then to the wonder of many Aragorn did not put the crown upon his head, but
gave it back to Faramir, and said: ‘By the labour and valour of many I have
come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring
the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has
been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory.’

Then Frodo came forward and took the crown from Faramir and bore it to
Gandalf; and Aragorn knelt, and Gandalf set the White Crown upon his head, and
said:

‘Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones
of the Valar endure!’

But when Aragorn arose all that beheld him gazed in silence, for it seemed to
them that he was revealed to them now for the first time. Tall as the sea-kings
of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in
the flower of manhood; and wisdom sat upon his brow, and strength and healing
were in his hands, and a light was about him. And then Faramir cried:

‘Behold the King!’

And in that moment all the trumpets were blown, and the King Elessar went
forth and came to the barrier, and Húrin of
the Keys thrust it back; and amid the music of harp and of viol and of flute and
the singing of clear voices the King passed through the flower-laden streets,
and came to the Citadel, and entered in; and the banner of the Tree and
the Stars was unfurled upon the topmost tower, and the reign of King Elessar
began, of which many songs have told.

In his time the City was made more fair than it had ever been, even in the
days of its first glory; and it was filled with trees and with fountains, and
its gates were wrought of mithril and steel, and its streets were paved with
white marble; and the Folk of the Mountain laboured in it, and the Folk of the
Wood rejoiced to come there; and all was healed and made good, and the houses
were filled with men and women and the laughter of children, and no window was
blind nor any courtyard empty; and after the ending of the Third Age of the
world into the new age it preserved the memory and the glory of the years that
were gone.

In the days that followed his crowning the King sat on his throne in the Hall
of the Kings and pronounced his judgements. And embassies came from many lands
and peoples, from the East and the South, and from the borders of Mirkwood, and
from Dunland in the west. And the King pardoned the
Easterlings that had given themselves up, and sent them away free, and he made
peace with the peoples of Harad; and the slaves of Mordor he released and gave
to them all the lands about Lake Núrnen to be their own. And there were
brought before him many to receive his praise and reward for their
valour; and last the captain of the Guard brought to him Beregond to be judged.

And the King said to Beregond: ‘Beregond, by your sword blood was spilled
in the Hallows, where that is forbidden. Also you left your post without leave
of Lord or of Captain. For these things, of old, death was the penalty. Now
therefore I must pronounce your doom.

‘All penalty is remitted for your valour in battle, and still more because
all that you did was for the love of the Lord Faramir. Nonetheless you must
leave the Guard of the Citadel, and you must go forth from the City of Minas
Tirith.’

Then the blood left Beregond’s face, and he was stricken to the heart and
bowed his head. But the King said.:

‘So it must be, for you are appointed to the White Company, the Guard of
Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be its captain and dwell in Emyn
Arnen in honour and peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to
save him from death.’

And then Beregond, perceiving the mercy and justice of the King, was glad,
and kneeling kissed his hand, and departed in joy and content. And Aragorn gave
to Faramir Ithilien to be his princedom, and bade him dwell in the hills of Emyn
Arnen within sight of the City.

‘For,’ said he, ‘Minas Ithil in Morgul Vale shall be utterly destroyed,
and though it may in time to come be made clean, no man may dwell there for many
long years.’

And last of all Aragorn greeted Éomer of Rohan, and they embraced, and
Aragorn said: ‘Between us there can be no word of giving or taking, nor
of reward; for we are brethren. In happy hour did Eorl ride from the North, and
never has any league of peoples been more blessed, so that neither has ever
failed the other, nor shall fail. Now, as you know, we
have laid Théoden the Renowned in a tomb in the Hallows, and there he
shall lie for ever among the Kings of Gondor, if you will. Or if you desire it,
we will come to Rohan and bring him back to rest with his own people.’

And Éomer answered: ‘Since the day when you rose before me
out of the green grass of the downs I have loved you, and that love shall not
fail. But now I must depart for a while to my own realm, where there is much to
heal and set in order. But as for the Fallen, when all is made ready we will
return for him; but here let him sleep a while.’

And Éowyn said to Faramir: ‘Now I must go back to my own land and
look on it once again, and help my brother in his labour; but when one whom I
long loved as father is laid at last to rest, I will return.’

So the glad days passed; and on the eighth day of May the Riders of Rohan
made ready, and rode off by the North-way, and with them went the sons of
Elrond. All the road was lined with people to do them honour and praise them,
from the Gate of the City to the walls of the Pelennor. Then all others that
dwelt afar went back to their homes rejoicing; but in the City there was labour
of many willing hands to rebuild and renew and to remove all the scars of war
and the memory of the darkness.

The hobbits still remained in Minas Tirith, with Legolas and Gimli; for
Aragorn was loth for the fellowship to be dissolved. ‘At last all such things
must end,’ he said, ‘but I would have you wait a little while longer: for
the end of the deeds that you have shared in has not yet come. A day draws near
that I have looked for in all the years of my manhood, and when it comes I would
have my friends beside me.’ But of that day he would say no more.

In those days the Companions of the Ring dwelt together in a fair house with
Gandalf, and they went to and fro as they wished. And Frodo said to Gandalf:
‘Do you know what this day is that Aragorn speaks of? For we are happy here,
and I don’t wish to go; but the days are running away, and Bilbo is waiting;
and the Shire is my home.’

‘As for Bilbo,’ said Gandalf, ‘he is waiting for the same day, and he
knows what keeps you. And as for the passing of the days, it is now only May and
high summer is not yet in; and though all things may seem changed, as if an age
of the world had gone by, yet to the trees and the grass it is less than a year
since you set out.’

‘Pippin,’ said Frodo, ‘didn’t you say that Gandalf was less close
than of old? He was weary of his labours then, I think. Now he is recovering.’

And Gandalf said: ‘Many folk like to know beforehand what is to be set on
the table; but those who have laboured to prepare the feast like to keep their
secret; for wonder makes the words of praise louder. And Aragorn himself waits
for a sign.’

There came a day when Gandalf could not be found, and the Companions wondered
what was going forward. But Gandalf took Aragorn out from the City by night, and
he brought him to the southern feet of Mount Mindolluin; and there they found a
path made in ages past that few now dared to tread. For it led up on to the
mountain to a high hallow where only the kings had been wont to go. And they
went up by steep ways, until they came to a high field below the snows that clad
the lofty peaks, and it looked down over the precipice that stood behind the
City. And standing there they surveyed the lands, for the morning was come; and
they saw the towers of the City far below them like white pencils touched by the
sunlight, and all the Vale of Anduin was like a garden, and the Mountains of
Shadow were veiled in a golden mist. Upon the one side their sight reached to
the grey Emyn Muil, and the glint of Rauros was like a star twinkling far off;
and upon the other side they saw the River like a ribbon laid down to Pelargir,
and beyond that was a light on the hem of the sky that spoke of the Sea.

And Gandalf said: ‘This is your realm, and the heart of the greater realm
that shall be. The Third Age of the world is ended, and the new age is begun;
and it is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be
preserved. For though much has been saved, much must now pass away; and the
power of the Three Rings also is ended. And all the lands that you see, and
those that lie round about them, shall be dwellings of Men. For the time comes
of the Dominion of Men, and the Elder Kindred shall fade or depart.’

‘I know it well, dear friend,’ said Aragorn; ‘but I would still have
your counsel.’

‘Not for long now,’ said Gandalf. ‘The Third Age was my age. I was the
Enemy of Sauron; and my work is finished. I shall go soon. The burden must lie
now upon you and your kindred.’

‘But I shall die,’ said Aragorn. ‘For I am a mortal man, and though
being what I am and of the race of the West unmingled, I shall have life far
longer than other men, yet that is but a little while; and when those who are
now in the wombs of women are born and have grown old, I too shall grow old. And
who then shall govern Gondor and those who look to this City as to their queen,
if my desire be not granted? The Tree in the Court of the Fountain is still
withered and barren. When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?’

‘Turn your face from the green world, and look where all seems barren and
cold!’ said Gandalf.

Then Aragorn turned. and there was a stony slope behind him running down from
the skirts of the snow; and as he looked he was aware that alone there in the
waste a growing thing stood. And he climbed to it, and saw that out of the very
edge of the snow there sprang a sapling tree no more than three foot high.
Already it had put forth young leaves long and shapely, dark above and silver
beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of flowers whose
white petals shone like the sunlit snow.

Then Aragorn cried: ‘Yé! utúvienyes!
I have found it! Lo! here is a scion of the Eldest of Trees! But how comes it
here? For it is not itself yet seven years old.’

And Gandalf coming looked at it, and said: ‘Verily this is a sapling of the
line of Nimloth the fair; and that was a seedling of Galathilion, and that a
fruit of Telperion of many names, Eldest of Trees. Who shall say how it comes
here in the appointed hour? But this is an ancient hallow, and ere the kings
failed or the Tree withered in the court, a fruit must have been set here. For
it is said that, though the fruit of the Tree comes seldom to ripeness, yet the
life within may then lie sleeping through many long years, and none can foretell
the time in which it will awake. Remember this. For if ever a fruit ripens, it
should be planted, lest the line die out of the world. Here it has lain. hidden
on the mountain, even as the race of Elendil lay hidden in the wastes of the
North. Yet the line of Nimloth is older far than your line, King Elessar.’

Then Aragorn laid his hand gently to the sapling, and lo! it seemed to hold
only lightly to the earth, and it was removed
without hurt; and Aragorn bore it back to the Citadel. Then the withered tree
was uprooted, but with reverence; and they did not burn it, but laid it to rest
in the silence of Rath Dínen. And Aragorn planted the new tree in
the court by the fountain, and swiftly and gladly it began to grow; and when the
month of June entered in it was laden with blossom.

‘The sign has been given,’ said Aragorn, ‘and the day is not far
off.’ And he set watchmen upon the walls.

It was the day before Midsummer when messengers came from Amon Din to the
City, and they said that there was a riding of fair folk out of the North, and
they drew near now to the walls of the Pelennor. And the King said: ‘At last
they have come. Let all the City be made ready!’

Upon the very Eve of Midsummer, when the sky was blue as sapphire and white
stars opened in the East, but the West was still golden and the air was cool and
fragrant, the riders came down the North-way to the gates of Minas Tirith. First
rode Elrohir and Elladan with a banner of silver,
and then came Glorfindel and Erestor and all the household of Rivendell, and
after them came the Lady Galadriel and Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien,
riding upon white steeds and with them many fair folk of their land,
grey-cloaked with white gems in their hair; and last came Master Elrond, mighty
among Elves and Men, bearing the sceptre of Annúminas, and beside him
upon a grey palfrey rode Arwen his daughter, Evenstar of her people.

And Frodo when he saw her come glimmering in the evening, with stars on her
brow and a sweet fragrance about her, was moved with great wonder, and he said
to Gandalf: ‘At last I understand why we have waited! This is the ending. Now
not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and
all its fear pass away!’

Then the King welcomed his guests, and they alighted; and Elrond surrendered
the sceptre, and laid the hand of his daughter in the hand of the King, and
together they went up into the High City, and all the stars
flowered in the sky. And Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undómiel
in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long
waiting and labours was come to fulfilment.

Chapter 6

Many Partings

When the days of rejoicing were over at last the Companions thought of
returning to their own homes. And Frodo went to the King as he was sitting with
the Queen Arwen by the fountain, and she sang a song of Valinor, while the Tree
grew and blossomed. They welcomed Frodo and rose to greet him; and Aragorn said:

‘I know what you have come to say, Frodo: you wish to return to your own
home. Well, dearest friend, the tree grows best in the land of its sires; but
for you in all the lands of the West there will ever be a welcome. And though
your people have had little fame in the legends of the great, they will now have
more renown than any wide realms that are no more.’

‘It is true that I wish to go back to the Shire,’ said Frodo. ‘But
first I must go to Rivendell. For if there could be anything wanting in a time
so blessed, I missed Bilbo; and I was grieved when among all the household of
Elrond I saw that he was not come.’

‘Do you wonder at that, Ring-bearer?’ said Arwen. ‘For you know the
power of that thing which is now destroyed; and all that was done by that power
is now passing away. But your kinsman possessed this thing longer than you. He
is ancient in years now, according to his kind; and he awaits you, for he will
not again make any long journey save one.’

‘Then I beg leave to depart soon,’ said Frodo.

‘In seven days we will go,’ said Aragorn. ‘For we shall ride with you
far on the road, even as far as the country of Rohan. In three days now Éomer
will return hither to bear Théoden back to rest in the Mark, and we shall
ride with him to honour the fallen. But now before you go I will confirm
the words that Faramir spoke to you, and you are made free for ever of the realm
of Gondor; and all your companions likewise. And if there were any gifts that I
could give to match with your deeds you should have them; but whatever you
desire you shall take with you, and you shall ride in honour and arrayed as
princes of the land.’

But the Queen Arwen said: ‘A gift I will give you. For I am the daughter of
Elrond. I shall not go with him now when he departs
to the Havens; for mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I
chosen, both the sweet and the bitter. But in my stead you shall go,
Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it. If your hurts
grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may
pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed. But wear
this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been
woven!’

And she took a white gem like a star that lay upon her breast hanging upon a
silver chain, and she set the chain about Frodo’s neck. ‘When the memory of
the fear and the darkness troubles you,’ she said, ‘this will bring you
aid.’

In three days, as the King had said, Éomer of Rohan came riding to the
City, and with him came an éored
of the fairest knights of the Mark. He was welcomed; and when they sat all at
table in Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts, he beheld the beauty of the
ladies that he saw and was filled with great wonder. And before he went to his
rest he sent for Gimli the Dwarf, and he said to
him: ‘Gimli Glóin’s son, have you your axe ready?’

‘Nay, lord,’ said Gimli, ‘but I can speedily fetch it, if there be
need.’

‘You shall judge,’ said Éomer. ‘For there are certain rash words
concerning the Lady in the Golden Wood that lie still between us. And now
I have seen her with my eyes.’

‘Well, lord,’ said Gimli, ‘and what say you now?’

‘Alas!’ said Éomer. ‘I will not say that she is the fairest lady
that lives.’

‘Then I must go for my axe,’ said Gimli.

‘But first I will plead this excuse,’ said
Éomer. ‘Had I seen her in other company, I would have said all that you
could wish. But now I will put Queen Arwen Evenstar first, and I am ready to do
battle on my own part with any who deny me. Shall I call for my sword?’

Then Gimli bowed low. ‘Nay, you are excused for my part, lord,’ he said.
‘You have chosen the Evening; but my love is given to the Morning. And my
heart forebodes that soon it will past away for ever.’

At last the day of departure came, and a great and fair
company made ready to ride north from the City. Then the kings of Gondor and
Rohan went to the Hallows and they came to the tombs in Rath Dínen, and
they bore away King Théoden upon a golden bier, and passed through the
City in silence. Then they laid the bier upon a great wain with Riders of Rohan
all about it and his banner borne before; and Merry being Théoden’s
esquire rode upon the wain and kept the arms of the king.

For the other Companions steeds were furnished according to their stature;
and Frodo and Samwise rode at Aragorn’s side, and Gandalf rode upon Shadowfax,
and Pippin rode with the knights of Gondor; and Legolas and Gimli as ever rode
together upon Arod.

In that riding went also Queen Arwen, and Celeborn and Galadriel with their
folk, and Elrond and his sons; and the princes of
Dol Amroth and of Ithilien, and many captains and knights. Never had any king of
the Mark such company upon the road as went with Théoden Thengel’s son
to the land of his home.

Without haste and at peace they passed into Anórien,
and they came to the Grey Wood under Amon Din; and there they heard a
sound as of drums beating in the hills, though no living thing could be seen.
Then Aragorn let the trumpets be blown; and heralds cried:

‘Behold the King Elessar is come! The Forest
of Drúadan he gives to Ghân-buri-ghân and to his folk, to be
their own for ever; and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!’

Then the drums rolled loudly, and were silent.

At length after fifteen days of journey the wain of King Théoden
passed through the green fields of Rohan and came to Edoras; and there they all
rested. The Golden Hall was arrayed with fair hangings and it was filled with
light, and there was held the highest feast that it had known since the days of
its building. For after three days the Men of the
Mark prepared the funeral of Théoden; and he was laid in a house of stone
with his arms and many other fair things that he had possessed, and over him was
raised a great mound, covered with green turves of grass and of white
evermind. And now there were eight mounds on the east-side of the Barrowfield.

Then the Riders of the King’s House upon white horses rode round about the
barrow and sang together a song of Théoden Thengel’s son that Gléowine
his minstrel made, and he made no other song after. The slow voices of
the Riders stirred the hearts even of those who did not know the speech of that
people; but the words of the song brought a light to the eyes of the folk of the
Mark as they heard again afar the thunder of the hooves
of the North and the voice of Eorl crying above the battle upon the Field of
Celebrant; and the tale of the kings rolled on, and the horn of Helm was loud in
the mountains, until the Darkness came and King Théoden arose and rode
through the Shadow to the fire, and died in splendour, even as the Sun,
returning beyond hope, gleamed upon Mindolluin in the morning.

Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day’s rising

he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.

Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended;

over death, over dread, over doom lifted

out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.

But Merry stood at the foot of the green mound, and he wept, and when the
song was ended he arose and cried:

‘Théoden King, Théoden King! Farewell! As a father you were
to me. for a little while. Farewell!’

When the burial was over and the weeping of women was stilled, and Théoden
was left at last alone in his barrow, then folk gathered to the Golden Hall for
the great feast and put away sorrow; for Théoden had lived to full years
and ended in honour no less than the greatest of his sires. And when the time
came that in the custom of the Mark they should drink to the memory of the
kings, Éowyn Lady of Rohan came forth, golden as the sun and white as
snow, and she bore a filled cup to Éomer.

Then a minstrel and loremaster stood up and named all the names of the Lords
of the Mark in their order: Eorl the Young; and Brego builder of the Hall; and
Aldor brother of Baldor the hapless; and Fréa, and Fréawine, and
Goldwine, and Déor, and Gram; and Helm who lay hid in Helm’s Deep when
the Mark was overrun; and so ended the nine mounds of the west-side, for in that
time the line was broken, and after came the mounds of the east-side: Fréalaf,
Helm s sister-son, and Léofa, and Walda, and Folca, and Folcwine, and
Fengel, and Thengel, and Théoden the latest. And when Théoden was
named Éomer drained the cup. Then Éowyn bade those that served to
fill the cups, and all there assembled rose and drank to the new king, crying:
‘Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!’

At the last when the feast drew to an end Éomer arose and said: ‘Now
this is the funeral feast of Théoden the King; but I will speak ere we go
of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was
ever a father of Éowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, fair folk of
many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall! Faramir,
Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan
should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall
be trothplighted before you all.’

And Faramir and Éowyn stood forth and set hand in hand; and all there
drank to them and were glad. ‘Thus,’ said Éomer, ‘is the friendship
of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice.’

Then Éowyn looked in the eyes of Aragorn, and she said: ‘Wish me
joy, my liege-lord and healer!’

And he answered: ‘I have wished thee joy ever since first I saw thee. It
heals my heart to see thee now in bliss.’

When the feast was over, those who were to go took leave of King Éomer.
Aragorn and his knights, and the people of Lórien and of Rivendell, made
ready to ride; but Faramir and Imrahil remained at Edoras; and Arwen
Evenstar remained also, and she said farewell to her brethren. None saw her last
meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke
long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends
of the world.

At the last before the guests set oat Éomer and Éowyn came to
Merry, and they said: ‘Farewell now, Meriadoc of the Shire and Holdwine of the
Mark! Ride to good fortune, and ride back soon to our welcome!’

And Éomer said: ‘Kings of old would have laden you with gifts
that a wain could not bear for your deeds upon the fields of Mundburg; and yet
you will take naught, you say, but the arms that were given to you. This I
suffer, for indeed I have no gift that is worthy; but my sister begs you to
receive this small thing, as a memorial of Dernhelm and of the horns of the Mark
at the coming of the morning.’

Then Éowyn gave to Merry an ancient horn, small but cunningly wrought
all of fair silver with a baldric of green; and wrights had engraven upon it swift
horsemen riding in a line that wound about it from the tip to the mouth; and
there were set runes of great virtue.

‘This is an heirloom of our house,’ said Éowyn. ‘It was made by
the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young
brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts
of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends, and they shall hear him and
come to him.’

Then Merry took the horn, for it could not be refused, and he kissed Éowyn’s
hand; and they embraced him, and so they parted for that time.

Now the guests were ready, and they drank the stirrup-cup, and with great
praise and friendship they departed, and came at length to Helm’s Deep, and
there they rested two days. Then Legolas repaid his promise to Gimli and went
with him to the Glittering Caves; and when they returned he was silent, and
would say only that Gimli alone could find fit words to speak of them. ‘And
never before has a Dwarf claimed a victory over an Elf in a contest of words,’
said he. ‘Now therefore let us go to Fangorn and set the score right!’

From Deeping-coomb they rode to Isengard, and saw how the Ents had busied
themselves. All the stone-circle had been thrown down and removed, and the land
within was made into a garden filled with orchards and trees, and a stream ran
through it; but in the midst of all there was a lake of clear water, and out of
it the Tower of Orthanc rose still, tall and impregnable, and its black rock was
mirrored in the pool.

For a while the travellers sat where once the old gates of Isengard had
stood, and there were now two tall trees like sentinels at the beginning of a
green-bordered path that ran towards Orthanc; and they looked in wonder at the
work that had been done, but no living thing could they see far or near. But
presently they heard a voice calling hoom-hom, hoom-hom; and there
came Treebeard striding down the path to greet them with Quickbeam at his side.

‘Welcome to the Treegarth of Orthanc!’ he said. ‘I knew that you were
coming, but I was at work up the valley; there is much still to be done. But you
have not been idle either away in the south and the east, I hear; and all that I
hear is good, very good.’ Then Treebeard praised all their deeds, of which he
seemed to have full knowledge; and at last he stopped and looked long at
Gandalf.

‘Well, come now!’ he said. ‘You have proved mightiest, and all your
labours have gone well. Where now would you be going? And why do you come
here?’

‘To see how your work goes, my friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘and to thank you
for your aid in all that has been achieved.’

‘Hoom, well, that is fair enough,’ said Treebeard; ‘for to be sure
Ents have played their part. And not only in dealing with that, hoom,
that accursed tree-slayer that dwelt here. For there was a great inrush of
those, burárum, those evileyed
- blackhanded - bowlegged - flinthearted - clawfingered - foulbellied -
bloodthirsty, morimaite - sincahonda, hoom, well, since you are
hasty folk and their full name is as long as years of torment, those
vermin of orcs; and they came over the River and down from the North and all
round the wood of Laurelindórenan, which they could not get into, thanks
to the Great ones who are here.’ He bowed to the Lord and Lady of Lórien.

‘And these same foul creatures were more than surprised to meet us out on
the Wold, for they had not heard of us before; though that might be said also of
better folk. And not many will remember us, for not many escaped us alive, and
the River had most of those. But it was well for you, for if they had not met
us, then the king of the grassland would not have ridden far, and if he had
there would have been no home to return to.’

‘We know it well,’ said Aragorn, ‘and never shall it be forgotten in
Minas Tirith or in Edoras.’

‘Never is too long a word even for me,’ said Treebeard. ‘Not
while your kingdoms last, you mean; but they will have to last long indeed to
seem long to Ents.’

‘The New Age begins,’ said Gandalf, ‘and in this age it may well prove
that the kingdoms of Men shall outlast you, Fangorn my friend. But now come tell
me: what of the task that I set you? How is Saruman? Is he not weary of Orthanc
yet? For I do not suppose that he will think you have improved the view from his
windows.’

Treebeard gave Gandalf a long look, a most cunning look, Merry thought.
‘Ah!’ he said. ‘I thought you would come to that. Weary of Orthanc? Very
weary at last; but not so weary of his tower as he was weary of my voice. Hoom!
I gave him some long tales, or at least what might be thought long in your
speech.’

‘Then why did he stay to listen? Did you go into Orthanc?’ asked Gandalf.

‘Hoom, no, not into Orthanc!’ said Treebeard. ‘But he came to his
window and listened, because he could not get news in any other way, and though
he hated the news, he was greedy to have it; and I saw that he heard it all. But
I added a great many things to the news that it was good for him to think of. He
grew very weary. He always was hasty. That was his ruin.’

‘l observe, my good Fangorn,’ said Gandalf, ‘that with great care you
say dwelt, was, grew. What about is? Is he dead?’

‘No, not dead, so far as I know,’ said Treebeard. ‘But he is gone. Yes,
he is gone seven days. I let him go. There was little left of him when he
crawled out, and as for that worm-creature of his, he was like a pale shadow.
Now do not tell me, Gandalf, that I promised to keep him safe; for I know it.
But things have changed since then. And I kept him until he was safe, safe from
doing any more harm. You should know that above all I hate the caging of live
things, and I will not keep even such creatures as these caged beyond great
need. A snake without fangs may crawl where he will.’

‘You may be right,’ said Gandalf; ‘but this snake had still one tooth
left, I think. He had the poison of his voice, and I guess that he persuaded
you, even you Treebeard, knowing the soft spot in your heart. Well, he is gone,
and there is no more to be said. But the Tower of Orthanc now goes back to the
King, to whom it belongs. Though maybe he will not need it.’

‘That will be seen later,’ said Aragorn. ‘But I will give to Ents all
this valley to do with as they will, so long as they keep a watch upon Orthanc
and see that none enter it without my leave.’

‘It is locked,’ said Treebeard. ‘I made Saruman lock it and give me the
keys. Quickbeam has them.’

Quickbeam bowed like a tree bending in the wind and handed to Aragorn two
great black keys of intricate shape, joined by a ring of steel. ‘Now I thank
you once more,’ said Aragorn, ‘and I bid you farewell. May your forest grow
again in peace. When this valley is filled there is room and to spare west of
the mountains, where once you walked long ago.’

Treebeard’s face became sad. ‘Forests may grow,’ he said. ‘Woods may
spread. But not Ents. There are no Entings.’

‘Yet maybe there is now more hope in your search,’ said Aragorn. ‘Lands
will lie open to you eastward that have long been closed.’

But Treebeard shook his head and said: ‘It is far to go. And there are too
many Men there in these days. But I am forgetting my manners! Will you stay here
and rest a while? And maybe there are some that would be pleased to pass through
Fangorn Forest and so shorten their road home?’ He looked at Celeborn and
Galadriel.

But all save Legolas said that they must now take their leave and depart,
either south or west. ‘Come, Gimli!’ said Legolas. ‘Now by Fangorn’s
leave I will visit the deep places of the Entwood and see such trees as are
nowhere else to be found in Middle-earth. You shall come with me and keep your
word; and thus we will journey on together to our own lands in Mirkwood and
beyond.’ To this Gimli agreed, though with no great delight, it seemed.

‘Here then at last comes the ending of the Fellowship of the Ring,’ said
Aragorn. ‘Yet I hope that ere long you will return to my land with the help
that you promised.’

‘We will come, if our own lords allow it,’ said Gimli. ‘Well, farewell.
my hobbits! You should come safe to your own homes now, and I shall not be kept
awake for fear of your peril. We will send word when we may, and some of us may
yet meet at times; but I fear that we shall not all be gathered together ever
again.’

Then Treebeard said farewell to each of them in turn, and he bowed three
times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel. ‘It is long,
long since we met by stock or by stone, A vanimar, vanimálionnostari!’ he said. ‘It is sad that we should meet only thus at the
ending. For the world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the
earth, and I smell it in the air. I do not think we shall meet again.’

And Celeborn said: ‘I do not know, Eldest.’ But Galadriel said: ‘Not in
Middle-earth, nor until the lands that lie under the wave are lifted up again.
Then in the willow-meads of Tasarinan we may meet in the Spring. Farewell!’

Last of all Merry and Pippin said good-bye to the old Ent, and he grew gayer
as he looked at them. ‘Well, my merry folk,’ he said, ‘will you drink
another draught with me before you go?’

‘Indeed we will,’ they said, and he took them aside into the shade of one
of the trees, and there they saw that a great stone jar had been set. And
Treebeard filled three bowls, and they drank; and they saw his strange eyes
looking at them over the rim of his bowl. ‘Take care take care!’ he said.
‘For you have already grown since I saw you last.’ And they laughed and
drained their bowls.

‘Well, good-bye!’ he said. ‘And don’t forget that if you hear any
news of the Entwives in your land, you will send word to me.’ Then he waved
his great hands to all the company and went off into the trees.

The travellers now rode with more speed, and they made their way towards the Gap
of Rohan; and Aragorn took leave of them at last close to that very place where
Pippin had looked into the Stone of Orthanc. The Hobbits were grieved at this
parting; for Aragorn had never failed them and he had been their guide through
many perils.

‘I wish we could have a Stone that we could see all our friends in,’ said
Pippin, ‘and that we could speak to them from far away!’

‘Only one now remains that you could use,’ answered Aragorn
for you would not wish to see what the Stone of Minas Tirith would show you. But
the Palantír of Orthanc the King will keep, to see what is passing in his
realm, and what his servants are doing. For do not forget, Peregrin Took, that
you are a knight of Gondor, and I do not release you from your service.
You are going now on leave, but I may recall you. And remember, dear friends of
the Shire, that my realm lies also in the North, and I shall come there one
day.’

Then Aragorn took leave of Celeborn and Galadriel; and the Lady said to him:
‘Elfstone, through darkness you have come to your hope, and have now all your
desire. Use well the days!’

But Celeborn said: ‘Kinsman, farewell! May your doom be other than mine,
and your treasure remain with you to the end!’

With that they parted, and it was then the time of sunset; and when after a
while they turned and looked back, they saw the King of the West sitting upon
his horse with his knights about him; and the falling Sun shone upon them and
made all their harness to gleam like red gold, and the white mantle of Aragorn
was turned to a flame. Then Aragorn took the green stone and held it up, and
there came a green fire from his hand.

Soon the dwindling company, following the Isen, turned west and rode through
the Gap into the waste lands beyond, and then they turned northwards, and passed
over the borders of Dunland. The Dunlendings fled and hid themselves, for they
were afraid of Elvish Folk, though few indeed ever came to their country; but
the travellers did not heed them, for they were still a great company and were
well provided with all that they needed; and they went on their way at their
leisure, setting up their tents when they would.

On the sixth day since their parting from the King they journeyed through a
wood climbing down from the hills at the feet of the Misty Mountains that now
marched on their right hand. As they came out again into the open country at
sundown they overtook an old man leaning on a staff, and he was clothed in rags
of grey or dirty white, and at his heels went another beggar, slouching and
whining.

‘Well Saruman!’ said Gandalf. ‘Where are you going?’

‘What is that to you?’ he answered. ‘Will you still order my goings,
and are you not content with my ruin?’

‘You know the answers,’ said Gandalf: ‘no and no. But in any case the
time of my labours now draws to an end. The King has taken on the burden. If you
had waited at Orthanc, you would have seen him, and he would have shown you
wisdom and mercy.’

‘Then all the À more reason to have left sooner,’ said
Saruman; ‘for I desire neither of him. Indeed if you wish for an answer to
your first question, I am seeking a way out of his realm.’

‘Then once more you are going the wrong way,’ said Gandalf, ‘and I see
no hope in your journey. But will you scorn our help? For we offer it to you.’

‘To me?’ said Saruman. ‘Nay, pray do not smile at me! I prefer your
frowns. And as for the Lady here, I do not trust her: she always hated me, and
schemed for your part. I do not doubt that she has brought you this way to have
the pleasure of gloating over my poverty. Had I been warned of your pursuit, I
would have denied you the pleasure.’

‘Saruman,’ said Galadriel, ‘we have other errands and other cares that
seem to us more urgent than hunting for you. Say rather that you are overtaken
by good fortune; for now you have a last chance.’

‘If it be truly the last, I am glad,’ said Saruman; ‘for I shall be
spared the trouble of refusing it again. All my hopes are ruined, but I would
not share yours. If you have any.’

For a moment his eyes kindled. ‘Go!’ he said. ‘I did not spend long
study on these matters for naught. You have doomed yourselves, and you know it.
And it will afford me some comfort as I wander to think that you pulled down
your own house when you destroyed mine. And now, what ship will bear you back
across so wide a sea?’ he mocked. ‘It will be a grey ship, and full of
ghosts.’ He laughed, but his voice was cracked and hideous.

‘Get up, you idiot!’ he shouted to the other beggar, who had sat down on
the ground; and he struck him with his staff. ‘Turn about! If these fine folk
are going our way, then we will take another. Get on, or I’ll give you no
crust for your supper!’

The beggar turned and slouched past whimpering: ‘Poor old Gríma!
Poor old Gríma! Always beaten and cursed. How I hate him! I wish I
could leave him!’

‘Then leave him!’ said Gandalf.

But Wormtongue only shot a glance of his bleared eyes full of terror at
Gandalf, and then shuffled quickly past behind Saruman. As the wretched pair
passed by the company they came to the hobbits, and Saruman stopped and stared
at them; but they looked at him with pity.

‘So you have come to gloat too, have you, my urchins?’ he said. ‘You
don’t care what a beggar lacks, do you? For you have all you want, food and
fine clothes, and the best weed for your pipes. Oh yes, I know! I know where it
comes from. You would not give a pipeful to a beggar, would you?’

‘I would, if I had any,’ said Frodo.

‘You can have what I have got left,’ said Merry, ‘if you will wait a
moment.’ He got down and searched in the bag at his saddle. Then he handed to
Saruman a leather pouch. ‘Take what there is,’ he said. ‘You are welcome
to it; it came from the flotsam of Isengard.’

‘Mine, mine, yes and dearly bought!’ cried Saruman, clutching at the
pouch. ‘This is only a repayment in token; for you took more, I’ll be bound.
Still, a beggar must be grateful, if a thief returns him even a morsel of his
own. Well, it will serve you right when you come home, if you find things less
good in the Southfarthing than you would like. Long may your land be short of
leaf!’

‘Thank you!’ said Merry. ‘In that case I will have my pouch back, which
is not yours and has journeyed far with me. Wrap the weed in a rag of your
own.’

‘One thief deserves another,’ said Saruman, and turned his back on Merry,
and kicked Wormtongue, and went away towards the wood.

‘Well, I like that!’ said Pippin. ‘Thief indeed! What of our claim for
waylaying, wounding, and orc-dragging us through Rohan?’

‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘And bought he said. How, I wonder? And I
didn’t like the sound of what he said about the Southfarthing. It’s time we
got back.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ said Frodo. ‘But we can’t go any quicker, if we
are to see Bilbo. I am going to Rivendell first, whatever happens.’

‘Yes, I think you had better do that,’ said Gandalf. ‘But alas for
Saruman! I fear nothing more can be made of him. He has withered altogether. All
the same, I am not sure that Treebeard is right: I fancy he could do some
mischief still in a small mean way.’

Next day they went on into northern Dunland, where no men now dwelt, though
it was a green and pleasant country. September came in with golden days and
silver nights, and they rode at ease until they reached the Swanfleet river, and
found the old ford, east of the falls where it went down suddenly into the
lowlands. Far to the west in a haze lay the meres and eyots through which it
wound its way to the Greyflood: there countless swans housed in a land of reeds.

So they passed into Eregion, and at last a fair morning dawned, shimmering
above gleaming mists; and looking from their camp on a low hill the travellers
saw away in the east the Sun catching three peaks that thrust up into the sky
through floating clouds: Caradhras, Celebdil, and Fanuidhol. They were near to
the Gates of Moria.

Here now for seven days they tarried, for the time was at hand for another
parting which they were loth to make. Soon Celeborn and Galadriel and their folk
would turn eastward, and so pass by the Redhorn Gate and down the Dimrill Stair
to the Silverlode and to their own country. They had journeyed thus far by the
west-ways, for they had much to speak of with Elrond and with Gandalf, and here
they lingered still in converse with their friends. Often long after the hobbits
were wrapped in sleep they would sit together under the stars, recalling the
ages that were gone and all their joys and labours in the world, or holding
council, concerning the days to come. If any wanderer had chanced to pass,
little would he have seen or heard, and it would have seemed to him only that he
saw grey figures, carved in stone, memorials of forgotten things now lost in
unpeopled lands. For they did not move or speak with mouth, looking from mind to
mind; and only their shining eyes stirred and kindled as their thoughts went to
and fro.

But at length all was said, and they parted again for a while, until it was
time for the Three Rings to pass away. Quickly fading into the stones and the
shadows the grey-cloaked people of Lórien rode towards the mountains;
and those who were going to Rivendell sat on the hill and watched, until there
came out of the gathering mist a flash; and then they saw no more. Frodo knew
that Galadriel had held aloft her ring in token of farewell.

Sam turned away and sighed: ‘I wish I was
going back to Lórien!’

At last one evening they came over the high moors, suddenly as to travellers
it always seemed, to the brink of the deep valley of Rivendell and saw far below
the lamps shining in Elrond’s house. And they went down and crossed the bridge
and came to the doors, and all the house was filled with light and song for joy
at Elrond’s homecoming.

First of all, before they had eaten or washed or even shed their cloaks, the
hobbits went in search of Bilbo. They found him all alone in his little room. It
was littered with papers and pens and pencils; but Bilbo was sitting in a chair
before a small bright fire. He looked very old, but peaceful, and sleepy.

He opened his eyes and looked up as they came in. ‘Hullo, hullo!’ he
said. ‘So you’ve come back? And tomorrow’s my birthday, too. How clever of
you! Do you know, I shall be one hundred and twenty-nine? And in one year more,
if I am spared, I shall equal the Old Took. I should like to beat him; but we
shall see.’

After the celebration of Bilbo’s birthday the four hobbits stayed in
Rivendell for some days, and they sat much with their old friend, who spent most
of his time now in his room, except at meals. For these he was still very
punctual as a rule, and he seldom failed to wake up in time for them. Sitting
round the fire they told him in turn all that they could remember of their
journeys and adventures. At first he pretended to take some notes; but he often
fell asleep; and when he woke he would say: ‘How splendid! How wonderful! But
where were we?’ Then they went on with the story from the point where he had
begun to nod.

The only part that seemed really to rouse him and hold his attention was the
account of the crowning and marriage of Aragorn. ‘I was invited to the wedding
of course,’ he said. ‘And I have waited for it long enough. But somehow,
when it came to it, I found I had so much to do here; and packing is such a
bother.’

When nearly a fortnight had passed Frodo looked out of his window and saw
that there had been a frost in the night, and the cobwebs were like white nets.
Then suddenly he knew that he must go, and say good-bye to Bilbo. The weather
was still calm and fair, after one of the most lovely summers that people could
remember; but October had come, and it must break soon and begin to rain and
blow again. And there was still a very long way to go. Yet it was not really the
thought of the weather that stirred him. He had a feeling that it was time he
went back to the Shire. Sam shared it. Only the night before he had said:

‘Well, Mr. Frodo, we’ve been far and seen a deal, and yet I don’t think
we’ve found a better place than this. There’s something of everything here,
if you understand me: the Shire and the Golden Wood and Gondor and kings’
houses and inns and meadows and mountains all mixed. And yet, somehow, I feel we
ought to be going soon. I’m worried about my gaffer, to tell you the truth.’

‘Yes, something of everything, Sam, except the Sea,’ Frodo had answered;
and he repeated it now to himself: ‘Except the Sea.’

That day Frodo spoke to Elrond, and it was agreed that they should leave the
next morning. To their delight Gandalf said: ‘I think I shall come too. At
least as far as Bree. I want to see Butterbur.’

In the evening they went to say good-bye to Bilbo. ‘Well, if you must go,
you must,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I shall miss you. It is nice just to know
that you are about the place. But I am getting very sleepy.’ Then he gave
Frodo his mithril-coat and Sting, forgetting that he had already done so; and he
gave him also three books of lore that he had made at various times, written in
his spidery hand, and labelled on their red backs: Translations from the
Elvish, by B.B.

To Sam he gave a little bag of gold. ‘Almost the last drop of the Smaug
vintage,’ he said. ‘May come in useful, if you think of getting married,
Sam.’ Sam blushed.

‘I have nothing much to give to you young fellows,’ he said to Merry and
Pippin, ‘except good advice.’ And when he had given them a fair sample of
this, he added a last item in Shire-fashion: ‘Don’t let your heads get too
big for your hats! But if you don’t finish growing up soon, you are going to
find hats and clothes expensive.’

‘But if you want to beat the Old Took,’ said Pippin, ‘I don’t see why
we shouldn’t try and beat the Bullroarer.’

Bilbo laughed, and he produced out of a pocket two beautiful pipes with pearl
mouth-pieces and bound with fine-wrought silver. ‘Think of me when you smoke
them!’ he said. ‘The Elves made them for me, but I don’t smoke now.’ And
then suddenly he nodded and went to sleep for a little; and when he woke up
again he said: ‘Now where were we? Yes, of course, giving presents. Which
reminds me: what’s become of my ring, Frodo, that you took away?’

‘I have lost it, Bilbo dear,’ said Frodo. ‘I got rid of it, you
know.’

‘What a pity!’ said Bilbo. ‘I should have liked to see it again. But
no, how silly of me! That’s what you went for, wasn’t it: to get rid of it?
But it is all so confusing, for such a lot of other things seem to have got
mixed up with it: Aragorn’s affairs, and the White Council and Gondor, and the
Horsemen, and Southrons, and oliphaunts - did you really see one, Sam? - and
caves and towers and golden trees, and goodness knows what besides.

‘I evidently came back by much too straight a road from my trip. I think
Gandalf might have shown me round a bit. But then the auction would have been
over before I got back, and I should have had even more trouble than I did.
Anyway it’s too late now; and really I think it’s much more comfortable to
sit here and hear about it all. The fire’s very cosy here, and the food’s
very good, and there are Elves when you want them. What more could one want?

The Road goes ever on and on

Out from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

Let others follow it who can!

Let them a journey new begin,

But I at last with weary feet

Will turn towards the lighted inn,

My evening-rest and sleep to meet.’

And as Bilbo murmured the last words his head dropped on his chest and he
slept soundly.

The evening deepened in the room, and the firelight burned brighter; and they
looked at Bilbo as he slept and saw that his face was smiling. For some time
they sat in silence; and then Sam looking round at the room and the shadows
flickering on the walls, said softly:

At that Bilbo opened an eye, almost as if he had heard. Then he roused
himself. ‘You see, I am getting so sleepy,’ he said. ‘And when I have time
to write, I only really like writing poetry. I wonder, Frodo my dear fellow, if
you would very much mind tidying things up a bit before you go? Collect all my
notes and papers, and my diary too, and take them with you, if you will. You
see, I haven’t much time for the selection and the arrangement and all that.
Get Sam to help, and when you’ve knocked things into shape, come back, and
I’ll run over it. I won’t be too critical.’

‘Of course I’ll do it!’ said Frodo. ‘And of course I’ll come back
soon: it won’t be dangerous any more. There is a real king now and he will
soon put the roads in order.’

‘Thank you, my dear fellow!’ said Bilbo. ‘That really is a very great
relief to my mind.’ And with that he fell fast asleep again.

The next day Gandalf and the hobbits took leave of Bilbo in his room, for it
was cold out of doors; and then they said farewell to Elrond and all his
household.

As Frodo stood upon the threshold, Elrond wished him a fair journey, and
blessed him, and he said:

‘I think, Frodo, that maybe you will not need to come back, unless you come
very soon. For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they
fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him.’

These words no one else heard, and Frodo kept them to himself.

Chapter 7

Homeward Bound

At last the hobbits had their faces turned towards home. They were eager now
to see the Shire again; but at first they rode only slowly, for Frodo had been
ill at ease. When they came to the Ford of Bruinen, he had halted, and seemed
loth to ride into the stream; and they noted that for a while his eyes appeared
not to see them or things about him. All that day he was silent. It was the
sixth of October.

‘Are you in pain, Frodo?’ said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo’s
side.

‘Well, yes I am,’ said Frodo. ‘It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and
the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.’

‘Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,’ said Gandalf.

‘I fear it may be so with mine,’ said Frodo. ‘There is no real going
back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not
be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where
shall I find rest?’

Gandalf did not answer.

By the end of the next day the pain and unease had passed, and Frodo was
merry again, as merry as if he did not remember the blackness of the day before.
After that the journey went well, and the days went quickly by; for they rode at
leisure, and often they lingered in the fair woodlands where the leaves were red
and yellow in the autumn sun. At length they came to Weathertop; and it was then
drawing towards evening and the shadow of the hill lay dark on the road. Then
Frodo begged them to hasten, and he would not look towards the hill, but rode
through its shadow with head bowed and cloak drawn close about him. That night
the weather changed, and a wind came from the West laden with rain, and it blew
loud and chill, and the yellow leaves whirled like birds in the air. When they
came to the Chetwood already the boughs were almost bare, and a great curtain of
rain veiled Bree Hill from their sight.

So it was that near the end of a wild and wet evening in the last days of
October the five travellers rode up the climbing road and came to the South-gate
of Bree. It was locked fast; and the rain blew in their faces, and in the
darkening sky low clouds went hurrying by, and their hearts sank a little, for
they had expected more welcome.

When they had called many times, at last the Gate-keeper came out, and they
saw that he carried a great cudgel. He looked at them with fear and suspicion;
but when he saw that Gandalf was there, and that his companions were hobbits, in
spite of their strange gear, then he brightened and wished them welcome.

‘Come in!’ he said, unlocking the gate. ‘We won’t stay for news out
here in the cold and the wet, a ruffianly evening. But old Barley will no doubt
give you a welcome at The Pony, and there you’ll hear all there is to
hear.’

‘And there you’ll hear later all that we say, and more,’ laughed
Gandalf. ‘How is Harry?’

The Gate-keeper scowled. ‘Gone,’ he said. ‘But you’d best ask
Barliman. Good evening!’

‘Good evening to you!’ they said, and passed through; and then they
noticed that behind the hedge at the road-side a long low hut had been built,
and a number of men had come out and were staring at them over the fence. When
they came to Bill Ferny’s house they saw that the hedge there was tattered and
unkempt, and the windows were all boarded up.

‘Do you think you killed him with that apple, Sam?’ said Pippin.

‘I’m not so hopeful, Mr. Pippin,’ said Sam. ‘But I’d like to know
what became of that poor pony. He’s been on my mind many a time and the wolves
howling and all.’

At last they came to The Prancing Pony, and that at least looked
outwardly unchanged; and there were lights behind the red curtains in the lower
windows. They rang the bell, and Nob came to the door, and opened it a crack and
peeped through; and when he saw them standing under the lamp he gave a cry of
surprise.

‘Mr. Butterbur! Master!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve come back!’

‘Oh have they? I’ll learn them,’ came Butterbur’s voice, and out he
came with a rush, and he had a club in his hand. But when he saw who they were
he stopped short, and the black scowl on his face changed to wonder and delight.

‘Nob, you woolly-pated ninny!’ he cried. ‘Can’t you give old friends
their names? You shouldn’t go scaring me like that, with times as they are.
Well, well! And where have you come from? I never expected to see any of you
folk again, and that’s a fact: going off into the Wild with that Strider, and
all those Black Men about. But I’m right glad to see you, and none more than
Gandalf. Come in! Come in! The same rooms as - before? They’re free. Indeed
most rooms are empty these days, as I’ll not hide from you, for you’ll find
it out soon enough. And I’ll see what can be done about supper, as soon as may
be; but I’m short-handed at present. Hey, Nob you slowcoach! Tell Bob! Ah, but
there I’m forgetting, Bob’s gone: goes home to his folk at nightfall now.
Well, take the guests’ ponies to the stables, Nob! And you’ll be taking your
horse to his stable yourself Gandalf; I don’t doubt. A fine beast, as I said
when I first set eyes on him. Well, come in! Make yourselves at home!’

Mr. Butterbur had at any rate not changed his manner of talking, and still
seemed to live in his old breathless bustle. And yet there was hardly anybody
about, and all was quiet; from the Common Room there came a low murmur of no
more than two or three voices. And seen closer in the light of two candles that
he lit and carried before them the landlord’s face looked rather wrinkled and
careworn.

He led them down the passage to the parlour that they had used on that
strange night more than a year ago; and they followed him, a little disquieted,
for it seemed plain to them that old Barliman was putting a brave face on some
trouble. Things were not what they had been. But they said nothing, and waited.

As they expected Mr. Butterbur came to the parlour after supper to see if all
had been to their liking. As indeed it had: no change for the worse had yet come
upon the beer or the victuals at The Pony at any rate. ‘Now I won’t
make so bold as to suggest you should come to the Common Room tonight,’ said
Butterbur. ‘You’ll be tired; and there isn’t many folk there this evening,
anyway. But if you could spare me half an hour before you go to your beds, I
would dearly like to have some talk with you, quiet-like by ourselves.’

‘That is just what we should like, too,’ said Gandalf. ‘We are not
tired. We have been taking things easy. We were wet, cold and hungry, but all
that you have cured. Come, sit down! And if you have any pipe-weed, we’ll
bless you.’

‘Well, if you’d called for anything else, I’d have been happier,’
said Butterbur. ‘That’s just a thing that we’re short of, seeing how
we’ve only got what we grow ourselves, and that’s not enough. There’s none
to be had from the Shire these days. But I’ll do what I can.’

When he came back he brought them enough to last them for a day or two, a wad
of uncut leaf. ‘Southlinch,’ he said, ‘and the best we have; but not the
match of Southfarthing, as I’ve always said though I’m all for Bree in most
matters, begging your pardon.’

They put him in a large chair by the wood-fire, and Gandalf sat on the other
side of the hearth, and the hobbits in low chairs between them; and then they
talked for many times half an hour, and exchanged all such news as Mr. Butterbur
wished to hear or give. Most of the things which they had to tell were a mere
wonder and bewilderment to their host, and far beyond his vision; and they
brought forth few comments other than: ‘You don’t say; often repeated in
defiance of the evidence of Mr. Butterbur’s own ears. ‘You don’t say, Mr.
Baggins, or is it Mr. Underhill? I’m getting so mixed up. You don’t say,
Master Gandalf! Well I never! Who’d have thought it in our times!’

But he did say much on his own account. Things were far from well, he would
say. Business was not even fair, it was downright bad. ‘No one comes nigh Bree
now from Outside,’ he said. ‘And the inside folks, they stay at home mostly
and keep their doors barred. It all comes of those newcomers and gangrels that
began coming up the Greenway last year, as you may remember; but more came
later. Some were just poor bodies running away from trouble; but most were bad
men, full o’ thievery and mischief. And there was trouble right here in Bree,
bad trouble. Why, we had a real set-to, and there were some folk killed, killed
dead! If you’ll believe me.’

‘I will indeed,’ said Gandalf. ‘How many?’

‘Three and two,’ said Butterbur, referring to the big folk and the
little. ‘There was poor Mat Heathertoes, and Rowlie Appledore, and little Tom
Pickthorn from over the Hill; and Willie Banks from up-away, and one of the
Underhills from Staddle: all good fellows, and they’re missed. And Harry
Goatleaf that used to be on the West-gate, and that Bill Ferny, they came in on
the strangers’ side, and they’ve gone off with them; and it’s my belief
they let them in. On the night of the fight, I mean. And that was after we
showed them the gates and pushed them out: before the year’s end, that was;
and the fight was early in the New Year, after the heavy snow we had.

‘And now they’re gone for robbers and live outside, hiding in the woods
beyond Archet, and out in the wilds north-away. It’s like a bit of the bad old
times tales tell of, I say. It isn’t safe on the road and nobody goes far, and
folk lock up early. We have to keep watchers all round the fence and put a lot
of men on the gates at nights.’

‘Well, no one troubled us,’ said Pippin, ‘and we came along slowly, and
kept no watch. We thought we’d left all trouble behind us.’

‘Ah, that you haven’t, Master, more’s the pity,’ said Butterbur.
‘But it’s no wonder they left you alone. They wouldn’t go for armed folk,
with swords and helmets and shields and all. Make them think twice, that would.
And I must say it put me aback a bit when I saw you.’

Then the hobbits suddenly realized that people had looked at them with
amazement not out of surprise at their return so much as in wonder at their
gear. They themselves had become so used to warfare and to riding in
well-arrayed companies that they had quite forgotten that the bright mail
peeping from under their cloaks, and the helms of Gondor and the Mark, and the
fair devices on their shields, would seem outlandish in their own country. And
Gandalf, too, was now riding on his tall grey horse, all clad in white with a
great mantle of blue and silver over all, and the long sword Glamdring at his
side.

Gandalf laughed. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘if they are afraid of just
five of us, then we have met worse enemies on our travels. But at any rate they
will give you peace at night while we stay.’

‘How long will that be?’ said Butterbur. ‘I’ll not deny we should be
glad to have you about for a bit. You see, we’re not used to such troubles;
and the Rangers have all gone away, folk tell me. I don’t think we’ve
rightly understood till now what they did for us. For there’s been worse than
robbers about. Wolves were howling round the fences last winter. And there’s
dark shapes in the woods, dreadful things that it makes the blood run cold to
think of. It’s been very disturbing, if you understand me.’

‘I expect it has,’ said Gandalf. ‘Nearly all lands have been disturbed
these days, very disturbed. But cheer up, Barliman! You have been on the edge of
very great troubles, and I am only glad to hear that you have not been deeper
in. But better times are coming. Maybe, better than any you remember. The
Rangers have returned. We came back with them. And there is a king again,
Barliman. He will soon be turning his mind this way.

‘Then the Greenway will be opened again, and his messengers will come
north, and there will be comings and goings, and the evil things will be driven
out of the waste-lands. Indeed the waste in time will be waste no longer, and
there will be people and fields where once there was wilderness.’

Mr. Butterbur shook his head. ‘If there’s a few decent respectable folk
on the roads, that won’t do no harm,’ he said. ‘But we don’t want no
more rabble and ruffians. And we don’t want no outsiders at Bree, nor near
Bree at all. We want to be let alone. I don’t want a whole crowd o’
strangers camping here and settling there and tearing up the wild country.’

‘You will be let alone, Barliman,’ said Gandalf. ‘There is room enough
for realms between Isen and Greyflood, or along the shore lands south of the
Brandywine, without any one living within many days’ ride of Bree. And many
folk used to dwell away north, a hundred miles or more from here, at the far end
of the Greenway: on the North Downs or by Lake Evendim.’

‘Up away by Deadmen’s Dike?’ said Butterbur, looking even more dubious.
‘That’s haunted land, they say. None but a robber would go there.’

‘The Rangers go there,’ said Gandalf. ‘Deadmen’s Dike, you say. So it
has been called for long years; but its right name, Barliman, is Fornost Erain,
Norbury of the Kings. And the King will come there again one day; and then
you’ll have some fair folk riding through.’

‘Well, that sounds more hopeful, I’ll allow,’ said Butterbur. ‘And it
will be good for business, no doubt. So long as he lets Bree alone.’

‘He will,’ said Gandalf. ‘He knows it and loves it.’

‘Does he now?’ said Butterbur looking puzzled. ‘Though I’m sure I
don’t know why he should, sitting in his big chair up in his great castle,
hundreds of miles away. And drinking wine out of a golden cup, I shouldn’t
wonder. What’s The Pony to him, or mugs o’ beer? Not but what my
beer’s good, Gandalf. It’s been uncommon good, since you came in the autumn
of last year and put a good word on it. And that’s been a comfort in trouble,
I will say.’

‘Ah!’ said Sam. ‘But he says your beer is always good.’

‘He says?’

‘Of course he does. He’s Strider. The chief of the Rangers. Haven’t you
got that into your head yet?’

It went in at last, and Butterbur’s face was a study in wonder. The eyes in
his broad face grew round, and his mouth opened wide, and he gasped.
‘Strider!’ he exclaimed when he got back his breath. ‘Him with a crown and
all and a golden cup! Well, what are we coming to?’

‘Better times, for Bree at any rate,’ said Gandalf.

‘I hope so, I’m sure,’ said Butterbur. ‘Well, this has been the
nicest chat I’ve had in a month of Mondays. And I’ll not deny that I’ll
sleep easier tonight and with a lighter heart. You’ve given me a powerful lot
to think over, but I’ll put that off until tomorrow. I’m for bed, and I’ve
no doubt you’ll be glad of your beds too. Hey, Nob!’ he called, going to the
door. ‘Nob, you slowcoach!’

‘Now!’ he said to himself, slapping his forehead. ‘Now what does that
remind me of?’

‘Now, now, Mr. Brandybuck, don’t go reminding me of that! But there,
you’ve broken my thought. Now where was I? Nob, stables, ah! that was it.
I’ve something that belongs to you. If you recollect Bill Ferny and the
horsethieving: his pony as you bought, well, it’s here. Come back all of
itself, it did. But where it had been to you know better than me. It was as
shaggy as an old dog and as lean as a clothes-rail, but it was alive. Nob’s
looked after it.’

‘What! My Bill?’ cried Sam. ‘Well, I was born lucky, whatever my gaffer
may say. There’s another wish come true! Where is he?’ Sam would not go to
bed until he had visited Bill in his stable.

The travellers stayed in Bree all the next day, and Mr. Butterbur could not
complain of his business next evening at any rate. Curiosity overcame all fears,
and his house was crowded. For a while out of politeness the hobbits visited the
Common Room in the evening and answered a good many questions. Bree memories
being retentive, Frodo was asked many times if he had written his book.

‘Not yet,’ he answered. ‘I am going home now to put my notes in
order.’ He promised to deal with the amazing events at Bree, and so give a bit
of interest to a book that appeared likely to treat mostly of the remote and
less important affairs ‘away south’.

Then one of the younger folk called for a song. But at that a hush fell, and
he was frowned down, and the call was not repeated. Evidently there was no wish
for any uncanny events in the Common Room again.

No trouble by day, nor any sound by night, disturbed the peace of Bree while
the travellers remained there; but the next morning they got up early, for as
the weather was still rainy they wished to reach the Shire before night, and it
was a long ride. The Bree folk were all out to see them off, and were in merrier
mood than they had been for a year; and those who had not seen the strangers in
all their gear before gaped with wonder at them: at Gandalf with his white
beard, and the light that seemed to gleam from him, as if his blue mantle was
only a cloud over sunshine; and at the four hobbits like riders upon errantry
out of almost forgotten tales. Even those who had laughed at all the talk about
the King began to think there might be some truth in it.

‘Well, good luck on your road, and good luck to your home-coming! said Mr.
Butterbur. ‘I should have warned you before that all’s not well in the Shire
neither, if what we hear is true. Funny goings on, they say. But one thing
drives out another, and I was full of my own troubles. But if I may be so bold,
you’ve come back changed from your travels, and you look now like folk as can
deal with troubles out of hand. I don’t doubt you’ll soon set all to rights.
Good luck to you! And the oftener you come back the better I’ll be pleased.’

They wished him farewell and rode away, and passed through the West-gate and
on towards the Shire. Bill the pony was with them, and as before he had a good
deal of baggage, but he trotted along beside Sam and seemed well content.

‘I wonder what old Barliman was hinting at,’ said Frodo.

‘I can guess some of it,’ said Sam gloomily. ‘What I saw in the Mirror:
trees cut down and all, and my old gaffer turned out of the Row. I ought to have
hurried back quicker.’

‘And something’s wrong with the Southfarthing evidently,’ said Merry.
‘There’s a general shortage of pipe-weed.’

‘Whatever it is,’ said Pippin, ‘Lotho will be at the bottom of it: you
can be sure of that.’

‘Deep in, but not at the bottom,’ said Gandalf. ‘You have forgotten
Saruman. He began to take an interest in the Shire before Mordor did.’

‘Well, we’ve got you with us,’ said Merry, ‘so things will soon be
cleared up.’

‘I am with you at present,’ said Gandalf, ‘but soon I shall not be. I
am not coming to the Shire. You must settle its affairs yourselves; that is what
you have been trained for. Do you not yet understand? My time is over: it is no
longer my task to set things to rights, nor to help folk to do so. And as for
you, my dear friends, you will need no help. You are grown up now. Grown indeed
very high; among the great you are, and I have no longer any fear at all for any
of you.

‘But if you would know, I am turning aside soon. I am going to have a long
talk with Bombadil: such a talk as I have not had in all my time. He is a
moss-gatherer, and I have been a stone doomed to rolling. But my rolling days
are ending, and now we shall have much to say to one another.’

In a little while they came to the point on the East Road where they had
taken leave of Bombadil; and they hoped and half expected to see him standing
there to greet them as they went by. But there was no sign of him; and there was
a grey mist on the Barrow-downs southwards, and a deep veil over the Old Forest
far away.

They halted and Frodo looked south wistfully. ‘I should dearly like to see
the old fellow again,’ he said. ‘I wonder how he is getting on?’

‘As well as ever, you may be sure,’ said Gandalf. ‘Quite untroubled and
I should guess, not much interested in anything that we have done or seen,
unless perhaps in our visits to the Ents. There may be a time later for you to
go and see him. But if I were you, I should press on now for home, or you will
not come to the Brandywine Bridge before the gates are locked.’

‘But there aren’t any gates,’ said Merry, ‘not on the Road; you know
that quite well. There’s the Buckland Gate, of course; but they’ll let me
through that at any time.’

‘There weren’t any gates, you mean,’ said Gandalf. ‘I think you will
find some now. And you might have more trouble even at the Buckland Gate than
you think. But you’ll! manage all right. Good-bye dear friends! Not for the
last time, not yet. Good-bye!’

He turned Shadowfax off the Road, and the great horse leaped the green dike
that here ran beside it; and then at a cry from Gandalf he was gone, racing
towards the Barrow-downs like a wind from the North.

‘Well here we are, just the four of us that started out together,’ said
Merry. ‘We have left all the rest behind, one after another. It seems almost
like a dream that has slowly faded.’

‘Not to me,’ said Frodo. ‘To me it feels more like falling asleep
again.’

Chapter 8

The Scouring of the Shire

It was after nightfall when, wet and tired, the travellers came at last to
the Brandywine, and they found the way barred. At either end of the Bridge there
was a great spiked gate; and on the further side of the river they could see
that some new houses had been built: two-storeyed with narrow straight-sided
windows, bare and dimly lit, all very gloomy and un-Shirelike.

They hammered on the outer gate and called, but there was at first no answer;
and then to their surprise someone blew a horn, and the lights in the windows
went out. A voice shouted in the dark:

‘Who’s that? Be off! You can’t come in: Can’t you read the notice: No
admittance between sundown and sunrise?’

‘Of course we can’t read the notice in the dark.’ Sam shouted back.
‘And if hobbits of the Shire are to be kept out in the wet on a night like
this, I’ll tear down your notice when I find it.’

At that a window slammed, and a crowd of hobbits with lanterns poured out of
the house on the left. They opened the further gate, and some came over the
bridge. When they saw the travellers they seemed frightened.

‘Come along!’ said Merry, recognizing one of the hobbits. ‘If you
don’t know me, Hob Hayward, you ought to. I am Merry Brandybuck, and I should
like to know what all this is about, and what a Bucklander like you is doing
here. You used to be on the Hay Gate.’

‘Bless me! It’s Master Merry, to be sure, and all dressed up for
fighting!’ said old Hob. ‘Why, they said you was dead! Lost in the Old
Forest by all accounts. I’m pleased to see you alive after all!’

‘Then stop gaping at me through the bars, and open the gate!’ said Merry.

‘I’m sorry, Master Merry, but we have orders.’

‘Whose orders?’

‘The Chief’s up at Bag End.’

‘Chief? Chief? Do you mean Mr. Lotho?’ said Frodo.

‘I suppose so, Mr. Baggins; but we have to say just “the Chief”
nowadays.’

‘Do you indeed!’ said Frodo. ‘Well, I am glad he has dropped the
Baggins at any rate. But it is evidently high time that the family dealt with
him and put him in his place.’

A hush fell on the hobbits beyond the gate. ‘It won’t do no good talking
that way,’ said one. ‘He’ll get to hear of it. And if you make so much
noise, you’ll wake the Chief’s Big Man.’

‘We shall wake him up in a way that will surprise him,’ said Merry. ‘If
you mean that your precious Chief has been hiring ruffians out of the wild, then
we’ve not come back too soon.’ He sprang from his pony, and seeing the
notice in the light of the lanterns, he tore it down and threw it over the gate.
The hobbits backed away and made no move to open it. ‘Come on, Pippin!’ said
Merry. ‘Two is enough.’

Merry and Pippin climbed the gate, and the hobbits fled. Another horn
sounded. Out of the bigger house on the right a large heavy figure appeared
against a light in the doorway.

‘What’s all this,’ he snarled as he came forward. ‘Gate-breaking? You
clear out, or I’ll break your filthy little necks!’ Then he stopped, for he
had caught the gleam of swords.

‘Bill Ferny,’ said Merry, ‘if you don’t open that gate in ten
seconds, you’ll regret it. I shall set steel to you, if you don’t obey. And
when you have opened the gates you will go through them and never return. You
are a ruffian and a highway-robber.’

Bill Ferny flinched and shuffled to the gate and unlocked it. ‘Give me the
key!’ said Merry. But the ruffian flung it at his head and then darted out
into the darkness. As he passed the ponies one of them let fly with his heels
and just caught him as he ran. He went off with a yelp into the night and was
never heard of again.

‘Neat work, Bill,’ said Sam, meaning the pony.

‘So much for your Big Man,’ said Merry. ‘We’ll see the Chief later.
In the meantime we want a lodging for the night, and as you seem to have pulled
down the Bridge Inn and built this dismal place instead, you’ll have to put us
up.’

‘I am sorry, Mr. Merry,’ said Hob, ‘but it isn’t allowed.’

‘What isn’t allowed?’

Taking in folk off-hand like and eating extra food, and all that, said Hob.

‘What’s the matter with the place?’ said Merry. ‘Has it been a bad
year, or what? I thought it had been a fine summer and harvest.’

‘Well no, the year’s been good enough,’ said Hob. ‘We grows a lot of
food, but we don’t rightly know what becomes of it. It’s all these
“gatherers” and “sharers”, I reckon, going round counting and measuring
and taking off to storage. They do more gathering than sharing, and we never see
most of the stuff again.’

‘Oh come!’ said Pippin yawning. ‘This is all too tiresome for me
tonight. We’ve got food in our bags. Just give us a room to lie down in.
It’ll be better than many places I have seen.’

The hobbits at the gate still seemed ill at ease, evidently some rule or
other was being broken; but there was no gainsaying four such masterful
travellers, all armed, and two of them uncommonly large and strong-looking.
Frodo ordered the gates to be locked again. There was some sense at any rate in
keeping a guard, while ruffians were still about. Then the four companions went
into the hobbit guard-house and made themselves as comfortable as they could. It
was a bare and ugly place, with a mean little grate that would not allow a good
fire. In the upper rooms were little rows of hard beds, and on every wall there
was a notice and a list of Rules. Pippin tore them down. There was no beer and
very little food, but with what the travellers brought and shared out they all
made a fair meal; and Pippin broke Rule 4 by putting most of next day’s
allowance of wood on the fire.

‘Well now, what about a smoke, while you tell us what has been happening in
the Shire?’ he said.

‘There isn’t no pipe-weed now,’ said Hob; ‘at least only for the
Chief’s men. All the stocks seem to have gone. We do hear that waggon-loads of
it went away down the old road out of the Southfarthing, over Sarn Ford way.
That would be the end o’ last year, after you left. But it had been going away
quietly before that, in a small way. That Lotho-‘

‘Now you shut up, Hob Hayward!’ cried several of the others. ‘You know
talk o’ that sort isn’t allowed. The Chief will hear of it, and we’ll all
be in trouble.’

‘All right, all right!’ said Sam. “That’s quite enough. I don’t
want to hear no more. No welcome, no beer, no smoke, and a lot of rules and
orc-talk instead. I hoped to have a rest, but I can see there’s work and
trouble ahead. Let’s sleep and forget it till morning!’

The new ‘Chief’ evidently had means of getting news. It was a good forty
miles from the Bridge to Bag End, but someone made the journey in a hurry. So
Frodo and his friends soon discovered.

They had not made any definite plans, but had vaguely thought of going down
to Crickhollow together first, and resting there a bit. But now, seeing what
things were like, they decided to go straight to Hobbiton. So the next day they
set out along the Road and jogged along steadily. The wind had dropped but the
sky was grey. The land looked rather sad and forlorn; but it was after all the
first of November and the fag-end of Autumn. Still there seemed an unusual
amount of burning going on, and smoke rose from many points round about. A great
cloud of it was going up far away in the direction of the Woody End.

As evening fell they were drawing near to Frogmorton, a village right on the
Road, about twenty-two miles from the Bridge. There they meant to stay the
night; The Floating Log at Frogmorton was a good inn. But as they came to
the east end of the village they met a barrier with a large board saying no
road; and behind it stood a large band of Shirriffs with staves in their hands
and feathers in their caps, looking both important and rather scared.

‘What’s all this?’ said Frodo, feeling inclined to laugh.

This is what it is, Mr. Baggins, said the leader of the Shirriffs, a
two-feather hobbit: ‘You’re arrested for Gate-breaking, and Tearing up of
Rules, and Assaulting Gate-keepers, and Trespassing, and Sleeping in
Shire-buildings without Leave, and Bribing Guards with Food.’

‘And what else?’ said Frodo.

‘That’ll do to go on with,’ said the Shirriff-leader.

‘I can add some more, if you like it,’ said Sam. ‘Calling your Chief
Names, Wishing to punch his Pimply Face, and Thinking you Shirriffs look a lot
of Tom-fools.’

‘There now, Mister, that’ll do. It’s the Chief’s orders that you’re
to come along quiet. We’re going to take you to Bywater and hand you over to
the Chief’s Men; and when he deals with your case you can have your say. But
if you don’t want to stay in the Lockholes any longer than you need, I should
cut the say short, if I was you.’

To the discomfiture of the Shirriffs Frodo and his companions all roared with
laughter. ‘Don’t be absurd!’ said Frodo. ‘I am going where I please, and
in my own time. I happen to be going to Bag End on business, but if you insist
on going too, well that is your affair.’

‘I won’t,’ said Frodo. ‘Never. But I may forgive you. Now I am not
going any further today, so if you’ll kindly escort me to The Floating Log,
I’ll be obliged.’

‘I can’t do that, Mr. Baggins. The inn’s closed. There’s a
Shirriff-house at the far end of the village. I’ll take you there. ‘

‘All right,’ said Frodo. ‘Go on and we’ll follow.’

Sam had been looking the Shirriffs up and down and had spotted one that he
knew. ‘Hey, come here Robin Smallburrow!’ he called. ‘I want a word with
you.’

With a sheepish glance at his leader, who looked wrathful but did not dare to
interfere, Shirriff Smallburrow fell back and walked beside Sam, who got down
off his pony.

‘Look here, Cock-robin!’ said Sam. ‘You’re Hobbiton-bred and ought to
have more sense, coming a-waylaying Mr. Frodo and all. And what’s all this
about the inn being closed?’

‘They’re all closed,’ said Robin. ‘The Chief doesn’t hold with
beer. Leastways that is how it started. But now I reckon it’s his Men that has
it all. And he doesn’t hold with folk moving about; so if they will or they
must, then they has to go to the Shirriff-house and explain their business.’

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself having anything to do with such
nonsense,’ said Sam. ‘You used to like the inside of an inn better than the
outside yourself. You were always popping in, on duty or off.’

‘And so I would be still, Sam, if I could. But don’t be hard on me. What
can I do? You know how I went for a Shirriff seven years ago, before any of this
began. Gave me a chance of walking round the country and seeing folk, and
hearing the news, and knowing where the good beer was. But now it’s
different.’

‘But you can give it up, stop Shirriffing, if it has stopped being a
respectable job,’ said Sam.

‘We’re not allowed to,’ said Robin.

‘If I hear not allowed much oftener,’ said Sam, ‘I’m going to
get angry.’

‘Can’t say as I’d be sorry to see it,’ said Robin lowering his voice.
‘If we all got angry together something might be done. But it’s these Men,
Sam, the Chief’s Men. He sends them round everywhere, and if any of us small
folk stand up for our rights, they drag him off to the Lockholes. They took old
Flourdumpling, old Will Whitfoot the Mayor, first, and they’ve taken a lot
more. Lately it’s been getting worse. Often they beat ‘em now.’

‘Then why do you do their work far them?’ said Sam angrily. ‘Who sent
you to Frogmorton?’

‘No one did. We stay here in the big Shirriff-house. We’re the First
Eastfarthing Troop now. There’s hundreds of Shirriffs all told and they want
more, with all these new rules. Most of them are in it against their will, but
not all. Even in the Shire there are some as like minding other folk’s
business and talking big. And there’s worse than that: there’s a few as do
spy-work for the Chief and his Men.’

‘Ah! So that’s how you had news of us, is it?’

‘That’s right. We aren’t allowed to send by it now, but they use the
old Quick Post service, and keep special runners at different points. One came
in from Whitfurrows last night with a “secret message”, and another took it
on from here. And a message came back this afternoon saying you was to be
arrested and taken to Bywater, not direct to the Lockholes. The Chief wants to
see you at once, evidently.’

‘He won’t be so eager when Mr. Frodo has finished with him,’ said Sam.

The Shirriff-house at Frogmorton was as bad as the Bridge-house. It had only
one storey, but it had the same narrow windows, and it was built of ugly pale
bricks, badly laid. Inside it was damp and cheerless, and supper was served on a
long bare table that had not been scrubbed for weeks. The food deserved no
better setting. The travellers were glad to leave the place. It was about
eighteen miles to Bywater, and they set off at ten o’clock in the morning.
They would have started earlier, only the delay so plainly annoyed the
Shirriff-leader. The west wind had shifted northward and it was turning colder,
but the rain was gone.

It was rather a comic cavalcade that left the village, though the few folk
that came out to stare at the ‘get-up’ of the travellers did not seem quite
sure whether laughing was allowed. A dozen Shirriffs had been told off as escort
to the ‘prisoners’; but Merry made them march in front, while Frodo and his
friends rode behind. Merry, Pippin, and Sam sat at their ease laughing and
talking and singing, while the Shirriffs stumped along trying to look stern and
important. Frodo, however, was silent and looked rather sad and thoughtful.

The last person they passed was a sturdy old gaffer clipping a hedge.
‘Hullo, hullo!’ he jeered. ‘Now who’s arrested who?’

Two of the Shirriffs immediately left the party and went towards him.
‘Leader!’ said Merry. ‘Order your fellows back to their places at once, if
you don’t want me to deal with them!’

The two hobbits at a sharp word from the leader came back sulkily. ‘Now get
on!’ said Merry, and after that the travellers saw to it that their ponies’
pace was quick enough to push the Shirriffs along as fast as they could go. The
sun came out, and in spite of the chilly wind they were soon puffing and
sweating.

At the Three-Farthing Stone they gave it up. They had done nearly fourteen
miles with only one rest at noon. It was now three o’clock. They were hungry
and very footsore and they could not stand the pace.

‘Well, come along in your own time!’ said Merry. ‘We are going on.’

‘Good-bye, Cock-robin!’ said Sam. ‘I’ll wait for you outside The
Green Dragon, if you haven’t forgotten where that is. Don’t dawdle on
the way!’

‘You’re breaking arrest, that’s what you’re doing,’ said the leader
ruefully, ‘and I can’t be answerable.’

‘We shall break a good many things yet, and not ask you to answer ‘ said
Pippin. ‘Good luck to you!’

The travellers trotted on, and as the sun began to sink towards the White
Downs far away on the western horizon they came to Bywater by its wide pool; and
there they had their first really painful shock. This was Frodo and Sam’s own
country, and they found out now that they cared about it more than any other
place in the world. Many of the houses that they had known were missing. Some
seemed to have been burned down. The pleasant row of old hobbit-holes in the
bank on the north side of the Pool were deserted, and their little gardens that
used to run down bright to the water’s edge were rank with weeds. Worse, there
was a whole line of the ugly new houses all along Pool Side, where the Hobbiton
Road ran close to the bank. An avenue of trees had stood there. They were all
gone. And looking with dismay up the road towards Bag End they saw a tall
chimney of brick in the distance. It was pouring out black smoke into the
evening air.

‘We ought to find out first what we’re in for, Sam,’ said Merry. ‘I
guess that the “Chief” will have a gang of ruffians handy. We had better
find someone who will tell us how things are round here.’

But in the village of Bywater all the houses and holes were shut, and no one
greeted them. They wondered at this, but they soon discovered the reason of it.
When they reached The Green Dragon, the last house on the Hobbiton side,
now lifeless and with broken windows, they were disturbed to see half a dozen
large ill-favoured Men lounging against the inn-wall; they were squint-eyed and
sallow-faced.

‘Like that friend of Bill Ferny’s at Bree,’ said Sam.

‘Like many that I saw at Isengard,’ muttered Merry.

The ruffians had clubs in their hands and horns by their belts, but they had
no other weapons, as far as could be seen. As the travellers rode up they left
the wall and walked into the road, blocking the way.

‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ said one, the largest and most
evil-looking of the crew. ‘There’s no road for you any further. And where
are those precious Shirriffs?’

‘Coming along nicely,’ said Merry. ‘A little footsore, perhaps. We
promised to wait for them here.’

‘Garn, what did I say?’ said the ruffian to his mates. ‘I told Sharkey
it was no good trusting those little fools. Some of our chaps ought to have been
sent.’

‘And what difference would that have made, pray?’ said Merry. ‘We are
not used to footpads in this country, but we know how to deal with them.’

‘Footpads, eh?’ said the man: ‘So that’s your tone, is it? Change it,
or we’ll change it for you. You little folk are getting too uppish. Don’t
you trust too much in the Boss’s kind heart. Sharkey’s come now and he’ll
do what Sharkey says.’

‘And what may that be?’ said Frodo quietly.

‘This country wants waking up and setting to rights,’ said the ruffian,
‘and Sharkey’s going to do it; and make it hard, if you drive him to it. You
need a bigger Boss. And you’ll get one before the year is out, if there’s
any more trouble. Then you’ll learn a thing or two, you little rat-folk.’

‘Indeed. I am glad to hear of your plans,’ said Frodo. ‘I am on my way
to call on Mr. Lotho, and he may be interested to hear of them too.’

The ruffian laughed. ‘Lotho! He knows all right. Don’t you worry. He’ll
do what Sharkey says. Because if a Boss gives trouble, we can change him. See?
And if little folks try to push in where they’re not wanted, we can put them
out of mischief. See?’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Frodo. ‘For one thing, I see that you’re behind
the times and the news here. Much has happened since you left the South. Your
day is over, and all other ruffians’. The Dark Tower has fallen, and there is
a King in Gondor. And Isengard has been destroyed, and your precious master is a
beggar in the wilderness. I passed him on the road. The King’s messengers will
ride up the Greenway now not bullies from Isengard.’

The man stared at him and smiled. ‘A beggar in the wilderness!’ he
mocked. ‘Oh, is he indeed? Swagger it, swagger it, my little cock-a-whoop. But
that won’t stop us living in this fat little country where you have lazed long
enough. And’ - he snapped his fingers in Frodo’s face - ‘King’s
messengers! That for them! When I see one, I’ll take notice, perhaps.’

This was too much for Pippin. His thoughts went back to the Field of
Cormallen, and here was a squint-eyed rascal calling the Ring-bearer ‘little
cock-a-whoop’. He cast back his cloak, flashed out his sword, and the silver
and sable of Gondor gleamed on him as he rode forward.

‘I am a messenger of the King,’ he said. ‘You are speaking to the
King’s friend, and one of the most renowned in all the lands of the West. You
are a ruffian and a fool. Down on your knees in the road and ask pardon, or I
will set this troll’s bane in you!’

The sword glinted in the westering sun. Merry and Sam drew their swords also
and rode up to support Pippin; but Frodo did not move. The ruffians gave back.
Scaring Breeland peasants, and bullying bewildered hobbits, had been their work.
Fearless hobbits with bright swords and grim faces were a great surprise. And
there was a note in the voices of these newcomers that they had not heard
before. It chilled them with fear.

‘Go!’ said Merry. ‘If you trouble this village again, you will regret
it.’ The three hobbits came on, and then the ruffians turned and fled running
away up the Hobbiton Road; but they blew their horns as they ran.

‘Well, we’ve come back none too soon,’ said Merry.

‘Not a day too soon. Perhaps too late, at any rate to save Lotho,’ said
Frodo. ‘Miserable fool, but I am sorry for him.’

‘Save Lotho? Whatever do you mean?’ said Pippin. ‘Destroy him I should
say.’

‘I don’t think you quite understand things, Pippin,’ said Frodo.
‘Lotho never meant things to come to this pass. He has been a wicked fool, but
he’s caught now. The ruffians are on top, gathering, robbing and bullying, and
running or ruining things as they like, in his name. And not in his name even
for much longer. He’s a prisoner in Bag End now, I expect, and very
frightened. We ought to try and rescue him.’

‘Well I am staggered!’ said Pippin. ‘Of all the ends to our journey
that is the very last I should have thought of: to have to fight half-orcs and
ruffians in the Shire itself - to rescue Lotho Pimple!’

‘Fight?’ said Frodo. ‘Well, I suppose it may come to that. But
remember: there is to be no slaying of hobbits, not even if they have gone over
to the other side. Really gone over, I mean; not just obeying ruffians’ orders
because they are frightened. No hobbit has ever killed another on purpose in the
Shire, and it is not to begin now. And nobody is to be killed at all, if it can
be helped. Keep your tempers and hold your hands to the last possible moment!’

‘But if there are many of these ruffians,’ said Merry, ‘it will
certainly mean fighting. You won’t rescue Lotho, or the Shire, just by being
shocked and sad, my dear Frodo.’

‘No,’ said Pippin. ‘It won’t be so easy scaring them a second time.
They were taken by surprise. You heard that horn-blowing? Evidently there are
other ruffians near at hand. They’ll be much bolder when there’s more of
them together. We ought to think of taking cover somewhere for the night. After
all we’re only four, even if we are armed.’

‘I’ve an idea,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s go to old Tom Cotton’s down
South Lane! He always was a stout fellow. And he has a lot of lads that were all
friends of mine.’

‘No!’ said Merry. ‘It’s no good “getting under cover”. That is
just what people have been doing, and just what these ruffians like. They will
simply come down on us in force, corner us, and then drive us out, or burn us
in. No, we have got to do something at once.’

‘Do what?’ said Pippin.

‘Raise the Shire!’ said Merry. ‘Now! Wake all our people! They hate all
this, you can see: all of them except perhaps one or two rascals, and a few
fools that want to be important, but don’t at all understand what is really
going on. But Shire-folk have been so comfortable so long they don’t know what
to do. They just want a match, though, and they’ll go up in fire. The
Chief’s Men must know that. They’ll try to stamp on us and put us out quick.
We’ve only got a very short time.

‘Sam, you can make a dash for Cotton’s farm, if you like. He’s the
chief person round here, and the sturdiest. Come on! I am going to blow the horn
of Rohan, and give them all some music they have never heard before.’

They rode back to the middle of the village. There Sam turned aside and
galloped off down the lane that led south to Cotton’s. He had not gone far
when he heard a sudden clear horn-call go up ringing into the sky. Far over hill
and field it echoed; and so compelling was that call that Sam himself almost
turned and dashed back. His pony reared and neighed.

‘On, lad! On!’ he cried. ‘We’ll be going back soon.’

Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the Horn-cry of Buckland,
shaking the air.

Awake! Awake! Fear, Fire, Foes! Awake!

Fire, Foes! Awake!

Behind him Sam heard a hubbub of voices and a great din and slamming of
doors. In front of him lights sprang out in the gloaming; dogs barked; feet came
running. Before he got to the lane’s end there was Farmer Cotton with three of
his lads, Young Tom, Jolly, and Nick, hurrying towards him. They had axes in
their hands, and barred the way.

‘Nay! It’s not one of them ruffians,’ Sam heard the farmer say.
‘It’s a hobbit by the size of it, but all dressed up queer. Hey!’ he
cried. ‘Who are you, and what’s all this to-do?’

‘It’s Sam, Sam Gamgee. I’ve come back.’

Farmer Cotton came up close and stared at him in the twilight. ‘Well!’ he
exclaimed. ‘The voice is right, and your face is no worse than it was, Sam.
But I should a’ passed you in the street in that gear. You’ve been in
foreign parts, seemingly. We feared you were dead.’

‘That I ain’t!’ said Sam. ‘Nor Mr. Frodo. He’s here and his
friends. And that’s the to-do. They’re raising the Shire. We’re going to
clear out these ruffians, and their Chief too. We’re starting now.’

‘Good, good!’ cried Farmer Cotton. ‘So it’s begun at last! I’ve
been itching for trouble all this year, but folks wouldn’t help. And I’ve
had the wife and Rosie to think of. These ruffians don’t stick at nothing. But
come on now, lads! Bywater is up! We must be in it!’

‘What about Mrs. Cotton and Rosie?’ said Sam. ‘It isn’t safe yet for
them to be left all alone.’

‘My Nibs is with them. But you can go and help him, if you have a mind,’
said Farmer Cotton with a grin. Then he and his sons ran off towards the
village.

Sam hurried to the house. By the large round door at the top of the steps
from the wide yard stood Mrs. Cotton and Rosie, and Nibs in front of them
grasping a hay-fork.

He jumped down from his pony and went up the steps. They stared at him in
silence. ‘Good evening, Mrs. Cotton!’ he said. ‘Hullo Rosie!’

‘Hullo, Sam!’ said Rosie. ‘Where’ve you been I They said you were
dead; but I’ve been expecting you since the Spring. You haven’t hurried have
you?’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Sam abashed. ‘But I’m hurrying now. We’re
setting about the ruffians, and I’ve got to get back to Mr. Frodo. But I
thought I’d have a look and see how Mrs. Cotton was keeping, and you,
Rosie.’

‘We’re keeping nicely, thank you,’ said Mrs. Cotton. ‘Or should be,
if it weren’t for these thieving ruffians.’

‘Well, be off with you!’ said Rosie. ‘If you’ve been looking after
Mr. Frodo all this while, what d’you want to leave him for, as soon as things
look dangerous?’

This was too much for Sam. It needed a week’s answer, or none. He turned
away and mounted his pony. But as he started off, Rosie ran down the steps.

‘I think you look fine, Sam,’ she said. ‘Go on now! But take care of
yourself, and come straight back as soon as you have settled the ruffians!’

When Sam got back he found the whole village roused. Already, apart from many
younger lads, more than a hundred sturdy hobbits were assembled with axes, and
heavy hammers, and long knives, and stout staves: and a few had hunting-bows.
More were still coming in from outlying farms.

Some of the village-folk had lit a large fire, just to enliven things, and
also because it was one of the things forbidden by the Chief. It burned bright
as night came on. Others at Merry’s orders were setting up barriers across the
road at each end of the village. When the Shirriffs came up to the lower one
they were dumbfounded; but as soon as they saw how things were, most of them
took off their feathers and joined in the revolt. The others slunk away.

Sam found Frodo and his friends by the fire talking to old Tom Cotton, while
an admiring crowd of Bywater folk stood round and stared.

‘Well, what’s the next move?’ said Farmer Cotton.

‘I can’t say,’ said Frodo, ‘until I know more. How many of these
ruffians are there?’

‘That’s hard to tell,’ said Cotton. ‘They moves about and comes and
goes. There’s sometimes fifty of them in their sheds up Hobbiton way; but they
go out from there roving round, thieving or “gathering” as they call it.
Still there’s seldom less than a score round the Boss, as they names him.
He’s at Bag End, or was; but he don’t go outside the rounds now. No one s
seen him at all, in fact, for a week or two; but the Men don’t let no one go
near.’

‘Hobbiton’s not their only place, is it?’ said Pippin.

‘No, more’s the pity,’ said Cotton. ‘There’s a good few down south
in Longbottom and by Sarn Ford, I hear; and some more lurking in the Woody End;
and they’ve sheds at Waymeet. And then there’s the Lockholes, as they call
‘em: the old storage-tunnels at Michel Delving that they’ve made into
prisons for those as stand up to them. Still I reckon there’s not above three
hundred of them in the Shire all told, and maybe less. We can master them, if we
stick together.’

‘Have they got any weapons?’ asked Merry.

‘Whips, knives, and clubs, enough for their dirty work: that’s all
they’ve showed so far,’ said Cotton. ‘But I dare say they’ve got other
gear, if it comes to fighting. Some have bows, anyway. They’ve shot one or two
of our folk.’

‘There you are, Frodo!’ said Merry. ‘I knew we should have to fight.
Well, they started the killing.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Cotton. ‘Leastways not the shooting. Tooks started
that. You see our dad Mr. Peregrin, he’s never had no truck with this Lotho,
not from the beginning: said that if anyone was going to play the chief at this
time of day, it would be the right Thain of the Shire and no upstart. And when
Lotho sent his Men they got no change out of him. Tooks are lucky, they’ve got
those deep holes in the Green Hills, the Great Smials and all, and the ruffians
can’t come at ‘em; and they won’t let the ruffians come on their land. If
they do, Tooks hunt ‘em. Tooks shot three for prowling and robbing. After that
the ruffians turned nastier. And they keep a pretty close watch on Tookland. No
one gets in nor out of it now.’

‘Good for the Tooks!’ cried Pippin. ‘But someone is going to get in
again, now. I am off to the Smials. Anyone coming with me to Tuckborough?’

Pippin rode off with half a dozen lads on ponies. ‘See you soon!’ he
cried. ‘It’s only fourteen miles or so over the fields. I’ll bring you
back an army of Tooks in the morning.’ Merry blew a horn-call after them as
they rode off into the gathering night. The people cheered.

‘All the same,’ said Frodo to all those who stood near, ‘I wish for no
killing; not even of the ruffians, unless it must be done, to prevent them from
hurting hobbits.’

‘All right!’ said Merry. ‘But we shall be having a visit from the
Hobbiton gang any time now, I think. They won’t come just to talk things over.
We’ll try to deal with them neatly, but we must be prepared for the worst. Now
I’ve got a plan.’

‘Very good,’ said Frodo. ‘You make the arrangements.’

Just then some hobbits, who had been sent out towards Hobbiton, came running
in. ‘They’re coming!’ they said. ‘A score or more. But two have gone off
west across country.’

‘To Waymeet, that’ll be,’ said Cotton, ‘to fetch more of the gang.
Well, it’s fifteen mile each way. We needn’t trouble about them just yet.’

Merry hurried off to give orders. Farmer Cotton cleared the street, sending
everyone indoors, except the older hobbits who had weapons of some sort. They
had not long to wait. Soon they could hear loud voices, and then the tramping of
heavy feet. Presently a whole squad of the ruffians came down the road. They saw
the barrier and laughed. They did not imagine that there was anything in this
little land that would stand up to twenty of their kind together.

The hobbits opened the barrier and stood aside. ‘Thank you!’ the Men
jeered. ‘Now run home to bed before you’re whipped.’ Then they marched
along the street shouting: ‘Put those lights out! Get indoors and stay there!
Or we’ll take fifty of you to the Lockholes for a year. Get in! The Boss is
losing his temper.’

No one paid any heed to their orders; but as the ruffians passed, they closed
in quietly behind and followed them. When the Men reached the fire there was
Farmer Cotton standing all alone warming his hands.

‘Who are you, and what d’you think you’re doing?’ said the
ruffian-leader.

Farmer Cotton looked at him slowly. ‘I was just going to ask you that,’
he said. ‘This isn’t your country, and you’re not wanted.’

‘Well, you’re wanted anyhow,’ said the leader. ‘We want you. Take him
lads! Lockholes for him, and give him something to keep him quiet!’

The Men took one step forward and stopped short. There rose a roar of voices
all round them, and suddenly they were aware that Farmer Cotton was not all
alone. They were surrounded. In the dark on the edge of the firelight stood a
ring of hobbits that had crept up out of the shadows. There was nearly two
hundred of them, all holding some weapon.

Merry stepped forward. ‘We have met before,’ he said to the leader,
‘and I warned you not to come back here. I warn you again: you are standing in
the light and you are covered by archers. If you lay a finger on this farmer, or
on anyone else, you will be shot at once. Lay down any weapons that you have!’

The leader looked round. He was trapped. But he was not scared, not now with
a score of his fellows to back him. He knew too little of hobbits to understand
his peril. Foolishly he decided to fight. It would be easy to break out.

‘At ‘em lads!’ he cried. ‘Let ‘em have it!’

With a long knife in his left hand and a club in the other he made a rush at
the ring, trying to burst out back towards Hobbiton. He aimed a savage blow at
Merry who stood in his way. He fell dead with four arrows in him:

That was enough for the others. They gave in. Their weapons were taken from
them, and they were roped together, and marched off to an empty hut that they
had built themselves, and there they were tied hand and foot, and locked up
under guard. The dead leader was dragged off and buried.

‘Seems almost too easy after all, don’t it?’ said Cotton. ‘I said we
could master them. But we needed a call. You came back in the nick o’ time,
Mr. Merry.’

‘There’s more to be done still,’ said Merry. ‘If you’re right in
your reckoning, we haven’t dealt with a tithe of them yet. But it’s dark
now. I think the next stroke must wait until morning. Then we must call on the
Chief.’

‘Why not now?’ said Sam. ‘It’s not much more than six o’clock. And
I want to see my gaffer. D’you know what’s come of him, Mr. Cotton?’

‘He’s not too well, and not too bad, Sam,’ said the farmer. ‘They dug
up Bagshot Row, and that was a sad blow to him. He’s in one of them new houses
that the Chief’s Men used to build while they still did any work other than
burning and thieving: not above a mile from the end of Bywater. But he comes
around to me, when he gets a chance, and I see he’s better fed than some of
the poor bodies. All against The Rules, of course. I’d have had him
with me, but that wasn’t allowed.’

‘Thank’ee indeed, Mr. Cotton, and I’ll never forget it,’ said Sam.
‘But I want to see him. That Boss and that Sharkey, as they spoke of, they
might do a mischief up there before the morning.’

‘All right, Sam,’ said Cotton. ‘Choose a lad or two, and go and fetch
him to my house. You’ll not have need to go near the old Hobbiton village over
Water. My Jolly here will show you.’

Sam went off. Merry arranged for look-outs round the village and guards at
the barriers during the night. Then he and Frodo went off with Farmer Cotton.
They sat with the family in the warm kitchen, and the Cottons asked a few polite
questions about their travels, but hardly listened to the answers: they were far
more concerned with events in the Shire.

‘It all began with Pimple, as we call him,’ said Farmer Cotton; ‘and it
began as soon as you’d gone off, Mr. Frodo. He’d funny ideas had Pimple.
Seems he wanted to own everything himself, and then order other folk about. It
soon came out that he already did own a sight more than was good for him; and he
was always grabbing more, though where he got the money was a mystery: mills and
malt-houses and inns, and farms, and leaf-plantations. He’d already bought
Sandyman’s mill before he came to Bag End, seemingly.

‘Of course he started with a lot of property in the Southfarthing which he
had from his dad; and it seems he’d been selling a lot o’ the best leaf, and
sending it away quietly for a year or two. But at the end o’ last year he
began sending away loads of stuff, not only leaf. Things began to get short, and
winter coming on, too. Folk got angry, but he had his answer. A lot of Men,
ruffians mostly, came with great waggons, some to carry off the goods
south-away, and others to stay. And more came. And before we knew where we were
they were planted here and there all over the Shire, and were felling trees and
digging and building themselves sheds and houses just as they liked. At first
goods and damage was paid for by Pimple; but soon they began lording it around
and taking what they wanted.

‘Then there was a bit of trouble, but not enough. Old Will the Mayor set
off for Bag End to protest, but he never got there. Ruffians laid hands on him
and took and locked him up in a hole in Michel Delving, and there he is now. And
after that, it would be soon after New Year, there wasn’t no more Mayor, and
Pimple called himself Chief Shirriff, or just Chief, and did as he liked; and if
anyone got “uppish” as they called it, they followed Will. So things went
from bad to worse. There wasn’t no smoke left, save for the Men; and the Chief
didn’t hold with beer, save for his Men, and closed all the inns; and
everything except Rules got shorter and shorter, unless one could hide a bit of
one’s own when the ruffians went round gathering stuff up “for fair
distribution”: which meant they got it and we didn’t, except for the
leavings which you could have at the Shirriff-houses, if you could stomach them.
All very bad. But since Sharkey came it’s been plain ruination.’

‘Who is this Sharkey?’ said Merry. ‘I heard one of the ruffians speak
of him.’

‘The biggest ruffian o’ the lot, seemingly,’ answered Cotton. ‘It was
about last harvest, end o’ September maybe, that we first heard of him.
We’ve never seen him, but he’s up at Bag End; and he’s the real Chief now,
I guess. All the ruffians do what he says; and what he says is mostly hack,
burn, and ruin; and now it s come to killing. There s no longer even any bad
sense in it. They cut down trees and let ‘em lie, they burn houses and build
no more.

‘Take Sandyman’s mill now. Pimple knocked it down almost as soon as he
came to Bag End. Then he brought in a lot o’ dirty-looking Men to build a
bigger one and fill it full o’ wheels and outlandish contraptions. Only that
fool Ted was pleased by that, and he works there cleaning wheels for the Men,
where his dad was the Miller and his own master. Pimple’s idea was to grind
more and faster, or so he said. He’s got other mills like it. But you’ve got
to have grist before you can grind; and there was no more for the new mill to do
than for the old. But since Sharkey came they don’t grind no more corn at all.
They’re always a-hammering and a-letting out a smoke and a stench, and there
isn’t no peace even at night in Hobbiton. And they pour out filth a purpose;
they’ve fouled all the lower Water and it’s getting down into Brandywine. If
they want to make the Shire into a desert, they’re going the right way about
it. I don’t believe that fool of a Pimple’s behind all this. It’s Sharkey,
I say.’

‘That’s right!’ put in Young Tom. ‘Why, they even took Pimple’s old
ma, that Lobelia, and he was fond of her, if no one else was. Some of the
Hobbiton folk, they saw it. She comes down the lane with her old umbrella. Some
of the ruffians were going up with a big cart.

‘ “Where be you a-going?” says she.

‘ “To Bag End,” says they.

‘ “What for?” says she.

‘ “To put up some sheds for Sharkey,” says they.

‘ “Who said you could?” says she.

‘ “Sharkey,” says they. “So get out o’ the road, old hagling!”

‘ “I’ll give you Sharkey, you dirty thieving ruffians!” says she, and
ups with her umbrella and goes for the leader. near twice her size. So they took
her. Dragged her off to the Lockholes, at her age too. They’ve took others we
miss more, but there’s no denying she showed more spirit than most.’

Into the middle of this talk came Sam, bursting in with his gaffer. Old
Gamgee did not look much older, but he was a little deafer.

‘Good evening. Mr. Baggins!’ he said. ‘Glad indeed I am to see you safe
back. But I’ve a bone to pick with you, in a manner o’ speaking, if I may
make so bold. You didn’t never ought to have a’ sold Bag End, as I always
said. That’s what started all the mischief. And while you’re been trapessing
in foreign parts, chasing Black Men up mountains from what my Sam says, though
what for he don’t make clear, they’ve been and dug up Bagshot Row and ruined
my taters!’

‘I am very sorry, Mr. Gamgee,’ said Frodo. ‘But now I’ve come back,
I’ll do my best to make amends.’

‘Well, you can’t say fairer than that,’ said the gaffer. ‘Mr. Frodo
Baggins is a real gentlehobbit, I always have said, whatever you may think of
some others of the name, begging your pardon. And I hope my Sam’s behaved
hisself and given satisfaction?’

‘Perfect satisfaction, Mr. Gamgee,’ said Frodo. ‘Indeed, if you will
believe it, he’s now one of the most famous people in all the lands, and they
are making songs about his deeds from here to the Sea and beyond the Great
River.’ Sam blushed, but he looked gratefully at Frodo, for Rosie’s eyes
were shining and she was smiling at him.

‘It takes a lot o’ believing,’ said the gaffer, ‘though I can see
he’s been mixing in strange company. What’s come of his weskit? I don’t
hold with wearing ironmongery, whether it wears well or no.’

Farmer Cotton’s household and all his guests were up early next morning.
Nothing had been heard in the night, but more trouble would certainly come
before the day was old. ‘Seems as if none o’ the ruffians were left up at
Bag End,’ said Cotton; ‘but the gang from Waymeet will be along any time
now.’

After breakfast a messenger from the Tookland rode in. He was in high
spirits. ‘The Thain has raised all our country,’ he said, ‘and the news is
going like fire all ways. The ruffians that were watching our land have fled off
south, those that escaped alive. The Thain has gone after them, to hold off the
big gang down that way; but he’s sent Mr Peregrin back with all the other folk
he can spare.’

The next news was less good. Merry, who had been out all night, came riding
in about ten o’clock. ‘There’s a big band about four miles away,’ he
said. ‘They’re coming along the road from Waymeet, but a good many stray
ruffians have joined up with them. There must be close on a hundred of them; and
they’re fire-raising as they come. Curse them!’

‘Ah! This lot won’t stay to talk, they’ll kill, if they can,’ said
Farmer Cotton. ‘If Tooks don’t come sooner, we’d best get behind cover and
shoot without arguing. There’s got to be some fighting before this is settled,
Mr. Frodo.’

The Tooks did come sooner. Before long they marched in, a hundred strong,
from Tuckborough and the Green Hills with Pippin at their head. Merry now had
enough sturdy hobbitry to deal with the ruffians. Scouts reported that they were
keeping close together. They knew that the countryside had risen against them,
and plainly meant to deal with the rebellion ruthlessly, at its centre in
Bywater. But however grim they, might be, they seemed to have no leader among
them who understood warfare. They came on without any precautions. Merry laid
his plans quickly.

The ruffians came tramping along the East Road, and without halting turned up
the Bywater Road, which ran for some way sloping up between high banks with low
hedges on top. Round a bend, about a furlong from the main road, they met a
stout barrier of old farm-carts upturned. That halted them. At the same moment
they became aware that the hedges on both sides, just above their heads, were
all lined with hobbits. Behind them other hobbits now pushed out some more
waggons that had been hidden in a field, and so blocked the way back. A voice
spoke to them from above.

‘Well, you have walked into a trap,’ said Merry. ‘Your fellows from
Hobbiton did the same, and one is dead and the rest are prisoners. Lay down your
weapons! Then go back twenty paces and sit down. Any who try to break out will
be shot.’

But the ruffians could not now be cowed so easily. A few of them obeyed, but
were immediately set on by their fellows. A score or more broke back and charged
the waggons. Six were shot, but the remainder burst out, killing two hobbits,
and then scattering across country in the direction of the Woody End. Two more
fell as they ran. Merry blew a loud horn-call, and there were answering calls
from a distance.

‘They won’t get far,’ said Pippin. ‘All that country is alive with
our hunters now.’

Behind, the trapped Men in the lane, still about four score, tried to climb
the barrier and the banks, and the hobbits were obliged to shoot many of them or
hew them with axes. But many of the strongest and most desperate got out on the
west side, and attacked their enemies fiercely, being now more bent on killing
than escaping. Several hobbits fell, and the rest were wavering, when Merry and
Pippin, who were on the east side, came across and charged the ruffians. Merry
himself slew the leader, a great squint-eyed brute like a huge orc. Then he drew
his forces off, encircling the last remnant of the Men in a wide ring of
archers.

At last all was over. Nearly seventy of the ruffians lay dead on the field,
and a dozen were prisoners. Nineteen hobbits were killed, and some thirty were
wounded. The dead ruffians were laden on waggons and hauled off to an old
sand-pit nearby and there buried: in the Battle Pit, as it was afterwards
called. The fallen hobbits were laid together in a grave on the hill-side, where
later a great stone was set up with a garden about it. So ended the Battle of
Bywater, 1419, the last battle fought in the Shire, and the only battle since
the Greenfields, 1147, away up in the Northfarthing. In consequence, though it
happily cost very few lives, it has a chapter to itself in the Red Book, and the
names of all those who took part were made into a Roll, and learned by heart by
Shire-historians. The very considerable rise in the fame and fortune of the
Cottons dates from this time; but at the top of the Roll in all accounts stand
the names of Captains Meriadoc and Peregrin.

Frodo had been in the battle, but he had not drawn sword, and his chief part
had been to prevent the hobbits in their wrath at their losses, from slaying
those of their enemies who threw down their weapons. When the fighting was over,
and the later labours were ordered, Merry, Pippin, and Sam joined him, and they
rode back with the Cottons. They ate a late midday meal, and then Frodo said
with a sigh: ‘Well, I suppose it is time now that we dealt with the
“Chief”.’

‘Yes indeed; the sooner the better,’ said Merry. ‘And don’t be too
gentle! He’s responsible for bringing in these ruffians, and for all the evil
they have done.’

Farmer Cotton collected an escort of some two dozen sturdy hobbits. ‘For
it’s only a guess that there is no ruffians left at Bag End,’ he said. ‘We
don’t know.’ Then they set out on foot. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin led
the way.

It was one of the saddest hours in their lives. The great chimney rose up
before them; and as they drew near the old village across the Water, through
rows of new mean houses along each side of the road, they saw the new mill in
all its frowning and dirty ugliness: a great brick building straddling the
stream, which it fouled with a steaming and stinking overflow. All along the
Bywater Road every tree had been felled.

As they crossed the bridge and looked up the Hill they gasped. Even Sam’s
vision in the Mirror had not prepared him for what they saw. The Old Grange on
the west side had been knocked down, and its place taken by rows of tarred
sheds. All the chestnuts were gone. The banks and hedgerows were broken. Great
waggons were standing in disorder in a field beaten bare of grass. Bagshot Row
was a yawning sand and gravel quarry. Bag End up. beyond could not be seen for a
clutter of large huts.

‘They’ve cut it down!’ cried Sam. ‘They’ve cut down the Party
Tree!’ He pointed to where the tree. had stood under which Bilbo had made his
Farewell Speech. It was lying lopped and dead in the field. As if this was the
last straw Sam burst into tears.

A laugh put an end to them. There was a surly hobbit lounging over the low
wall of the mill-yard. He was grimy-faced and black-handed. ‘Don’t ‘ee
like it, Sam?’ he sneered. ‘But you always was soft. I thought you’d gone
off in one o’ them ships you used to prattle about, sailing, sailing. What
d’you want to come back for? We’ve work to do in the Shire now.’

‘So I see,’ said Sam. ‘No time for washing, but time for wall-propping.
But see here, Master Sandyman, I’ve a score to pay in this village, and
don’t you make it any longer with your jeering, or you’ll foot a bill too
big for your purse.’

Ted Sandyman spat over the wall: ‘Garn!’ he said. ‘You can’t touch
me. I’m a friend o’ the Boss’s. But he’ll touch you all right, if I have
any more of your mouth.’

‘Don’t waste any more words on the fool, Sam!’ said Frodo. ‘I hope
there are not many more hobbits that have become like this. It would be a worse
trouble than all the damage the Men have done.’

‘You are dirty and insolent, Sandyman,’ said Merry. ‘And also very much
out of your reckoning. We are just going up the Hill to remove your precious
Boss. We have dealt with his Men.’

Ted gaped, for at that moment he first caught sight of the escort that at a
sign from Merry now marched over the bridge. Dashing back into the mill he ran
out with a horn and blew it loudly.

‘Save your breath!’ laughed Merry. ‘I’ve a better.’ Then lifting up
his silver horn he winded it, and its clear call rang over the Hill; and out of
the holes and sheds and shabby houses of Hobbiton the hobbits answered, and came
pouring out, and with cheers and loud cries they followed the company up the
road to Bag End.

At the top of the lane the party halted, and Frodo and his friends went on;
and they came at last to the once beloved place. The garden was full of huts and
sheds, some so near the old westward windows that they cut off all their light.
There were piles of refuse everywhere. The door was scarred; the bell-chain was
dangling loose, and the bell would not ring. Knocking brought no answer. At
length they pushed and the door yielded. They went in. The place stank and was
full of filth and disorder: it did not appear to have been used for some time.

‘Where is that miserable Lotho hiding?’ said Merry. They had searched
every room and found no living thing save rats and mice. ‘Shall we turn on the
others to search the sheds?’

‘This is worse than Mordor!’ said Sam. ‘Much worse in a way. It comes
home to you, as they say; because it is home, and you remember it before it was
all ruined.’

‘Yes, this is Mordor,’ said Frodo. ‘Just one of its works. Saruman was
doing its work all the time, even when he thought he was working for himself.
And the same with those that Saruman tricked, like Lotho.’

Merry looked round in dismay and disgust. ‘Let’s get out!’ he said.
‘If I had known all the mischief he had caused, I should have stuffed my pouch
down Saruman’s throat.’

‘No doubt, no doubt! But you did not, and so I am able to welcome you
home.’ There standing at the door was Saruman himself, looking well-fed and
well-pleased; his eyes gleamed with malice and amusement.

A sudden light broke on Frodo. ‘Sharkey!’ he cried.

Saruman laughed. ‘So you have heard the name, have you? All my people used
to call me that in Isengard, I believe. A sign of affection, possibly.«
But evidently you did not expect to see me here.’

‘I did not,’ said Frodo. ‘But I might have guessed. A little mischief
in a mean way: Gandalf warned me that you were still capable of it.

‘Quite capable,’ said Saruman, ‘and more than a little. You made me
laugh, you hobbit-lordlings, riding along with all those great people so secure
and so pleased with your little selves. You thought you had done very well out
of it all, and could now just amble back and have a nice quiet time in the
country. Saruman’s home could be all wrecked, and he could be turned out, but
no one could touch yours. Oh no! Gandalf would look after your affairs.’

Saruman laughed again. ‘Not he! When his tools have done their task he
drops them. But you must go dangling after him, dawdling and talking, and riding
round twice as far as you needed. “Well,” thought I, “if they’re such
fools, I will get ahead of them and teach them a lesson. One ill turn deserves
another.” It would have been a sharper lesson, if only you had given me a
little more time and more Men. Still I have already done much that you will find
it hard to mend or undo in your lives. And it will be pleasant to think of that
and set it against my injuries.’

‘Well, if that is what you find pleasure in,’ said Frodo, ‘I pity you.
It will be a pleasure of memory only, I fear. Go at once and never return!’

The hobbits of the villages had seen Saruman come out of one of the huts, and
at once they came crowding up to the door of Bag End. When they heard Frodo’s
command, they murmured angrily:

Saruman looked round at their hostile faces and smiled. ‘Kill him!’ he
mocked. ‘Kill him, if you think there are enough of you, my brave hobbits!’
He drew himself up and stared at them darkly with his black eyes. ‘But do not
think that when I lost all my goods I lost all my power! Whoever strikes me
shall be accursed. And if my blood stains the Shire, it shall wither and never
again be healed.’

The hobbits recoiled. But Frodo said: ‘Do not believe him! He has lost all
power, save his voice that can still daunt you and deceive you, if you let it.
But I will not have him slain. It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it
will heal nothing. Go, Saruman, by the speediest way!’

‘Worm! Worm!’ Saruman called; and out of a nearby hut came Wormtongue,
crawling, almost like a dog. To the road again, Worm!’ said Saruman. ‘These
fine fellows and lordlings are turning us adrift again. Come along!’

Saruman turned to go, and Wormtongue shuffled after him. But even as Saruman
passed close to Frodo a knife flashed in his hand, and he stabbed swiftly. The
blade turned on the hidden mail-coat and snapped. A dozen hobbits, led by Sam,
leaped forward with a cry and flung the villain to the ground. Sam drew his
sword.

‘No, Sam!’ said Frodo. ‘Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt
me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was
great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against.
He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the
hope that he may find it.’

Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in
his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. ‘You have grown,
Halfling,’ he said. ‘Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel.
You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness,
in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no
more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have
neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell.’

He walked away, and the hobbits made a lane for him to pass; but their
knuckles whitened as they gripped on their weapons. Wormtongue hesitated, and
then followed his master.

‘Wormtongue!’ called Frodo. ‘You need not follow him. I know of no evil
you have done to me. You can have rest and food here for a while, until you are
stronger and can go your own ways.’

Wormtongue halted and looked back at him, half prepared to stay. Saruman
turned. ‘No evil?’ he cackled. ‘Oh no! Even when he sneaks out at night it
is only to look at the stars. But did I hear someone ask where poor Lotho is
hiding? You know, don’t you, Worm? Will you tell them?’

Wormtongue cowered down and whimpered: ‘No, no!’

‘Then I will,’ said Saruman. ‘Worm killed your Chief, poor little
fellow, your nice little Boss. Didn’t you, Worm? Stabbed him in his sleep, I
believe. Buried him, I hope; though Worm has been very hungry lately. No, Worm
is not really nice. You had better leave him to me.’

A look of wild hatred came into Wormtongue’s red eyes. ‘You told me to;
you made me do it,’ he hissed.

Saruman laughed. ‘You do what Sharkey says, always, don’t you, Worm?
Well, now he says: follow!’ He kicked Wormtongue in the face as he grovelled,
and turned and made off. But at that something snapped: suddenly Wormtongue rose
up, drawing a hidden knife, and then with a snarl like a dog he sprang on
Saruman’s back, jerked his head back, cut his throat, and with a yell ran off
down the lane. Before Frodo could recover or speak a word, three hobbit-bows
twanged and Wormtongue fell dead.

To the dismay of those that stood by, about the body of Saruman a grey mist
gathered, and rising slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire, as a pale
shrouded figure it loomed over the Hill. For a moment it wavered, looking to the
West; but out of the West came a cold wind, and it bent away, and with a sigh
dissolved into nothing.

Frodo looked down at the body with pity and horror, for as he looked it
seemed that long years of death were suddenly revealed in it, and it shrank, and
the shrivelled face became rags of skin upon a hideous skull. Lifting up the
skirt of the dirty cloak that sprawled beside it, he covered it over, and turned
away.

‘And that’s the end of that,’ said Sam. ‘A nasty end, and I wish I
needn’t have seen it; but it’s a good riddance.’

‘And the very last end of the War, I hope,’ said Merry.

‘I hope so,’ said Frodo and sighed. ‘The very last stroke. But to think
that it should fall here, at the very door of Bag End! Among all my hopes and
fears at least I never expected that.’

‘I shan’t call it the end, till we’ve cleared up the mess,’ said Sam
gloomily. ‘And that’ll take a lot of time and work.’

Chapter 9

The Grey Havens

The clearing up certainly needed a lot of work, but it took less time than
Sam had feared. The day after the battle Frodo rode to Michel Delving and
released the prisoners from the Lockholes. One of the first that they found was
poor Fredegar Bolger, Fatty no longer. He had been taken when the ruffians
smoked out a band of rebels that he led from their hidings up in the
Brockenbores by the hills of Scary.

‘You would have done better to come with us after all, poor old
Fredegar!’ said Pippin, as they carried him out too weak to walk.

He opened an eye and tried gallantly to smile. ‘Who’s this young giant
with the loud voice?’ he whispered. ‘Not little Pippin! What’s your size
in hats now?’

Then there was Lobelia. Poor thing, she looked very old and thin when they
rescued her from a dark and narrow cell. She insisted on hobbling out on her own
feet; and she had such a welcome, and there was such clapping and cheering when
she appeared, leaning on Frodo’s arm but still clutching her umbrella, that
she was quite touched, and drove away in tears. She had never in her life been
popular before. But she was crushed by the news of Lotho’s murder, and she
would’ not return to Bag End. She gave it back to Frodo, and went to her own
people, the Bracegirdles of Hardbottle.

When the poor creature died next Spring-she was after all more than a hundred
years old - Frodo was surprised and much moved: she had left all that remained
of her money and of Lotho’s for him to use in helping hobbits made homeless by
the troubles. So that feud was ended.

Old Will Whitfoot had been in the Lockholes longer than any, and though he
had perhaps been treated less harshly than some, he needed a lot of feeding up
before he could look the part of Mayor; so Frodo agreed to act as his Deputy,
until Mr. Whitfoot was in shape again. The only thing that he did as Deputy
Mayor was to reduce the Shirriffs to their proper functions and numbers. The
task of hunting out the last remnant of the ruffians was left to Merry and
Pippin, and it was soon done. The southern gangs, after hearing the news of the
Battle of Bywater, fled out of the land and offered little resistance to the
Thain. Before the Year’s End the few survivors were rounded up in the woods,
and those that surrendered were shown to the borders.

Meanwhile the labour of repair went on apace, and Sam was kept very busy.
Hobbits can work like bees when the mood and the need comes on them. Now there
were thousands of willing hands of all ages, from the small but nimble ones of
the hobbit lads and lasses to the well-worn and horny ones of the gaffers and
gammers. Before Yule not a brick was left standing of the new Shirriff-houses or
of anything that had been built by ‘Sharkey’s Men’; but the bricks were
used to repair many an old hole, to make it snugger and drier. Great stores of
goods and food, and beer, were found that had been hidden away by the ruffians
in sheds and barns and deserted holes, and especially in the tunnels at Michel
Delving and in the old quarries at Scary; so that there was a great deal better
cheer that Yule than anyone had hoped for.

One of the first things done in Hobbiton, before even the removal of the new
mill, was the clearing of the Hill and Bag End, and the restoration of Bagshot
Row. The front of the new sand-pit was all levelled and made into a large
sheltered garden, and new holes were dug in the southward face, back into the
Hill, and they were lined with brick. The Gaffer was restored to Number Three;
and he said often and did not care who heard it:

‘It’s an ill wind as blows nobody no good, as I always say. And All’s
well as ends Better!’

There was some discussion of the name that the new row should be given. Battle
Gardens was thought of, or Better Smials. But after a while in
sensible hobbit-fashion it was just called New Row. It was a purely
Bywater joke to refer to it as Sharkey’s End.

The trees were the worst loss and damage, for at Sharkey’s bidding they had
been cut down recklessly far and wide over the Shire; and Sam grieved over this
more than anything else. For one thing, this hurt would take long to heal, and
only his great-grandchildren, he thought, would see the Shire as it ought to be.

Then suddenly one day, for he had been too busy for weeks to give a thought
to his adventures, he remembered the gift of Galadriel. He brought the box out
and showed it to the other Travellers (for so they were now called by everyone),
and asked their advice.

‘I wondered when you would think of it,’ said Frodo. ‘Open it!’

Inside it was filled with a grey dust, soft and fine, in the middle of which
was a seed, like a small nut with a silver shale. ‘What can I do with this?’
said Sam.

‘Throw it in the air on a breezy day and let it do its work!’ said
Pippin.

‘On what?’ said Sam.

‘Choose one spot as a nursery, and see what happens to the plants there,’
said Merry.

‘But I’m sure the Lady would not like me to keep it all for my own
garden, now so many folk have suffered,’ said Sam.

‘Use all the wits and knowledge you have of your own, Sam,’ said Frodo,
‘and then use the gift to help your work and better it. And use it sparingly.
There is not much here, and I expect every grain has a value.’

So Sam planted saplings in all the places where specially beautiful or
beloved trees had been destroyed, and he put a grain of the precious dust in the
soil at the root of each. He went up and down the Shire in this labour; but if
he paid special attention to Hobbiton and Bywater no one blamed him. And at the
end he found that he still had a little of the dust left; so he went to the
Three-Farthing Stone, which is as near the centre of the Shire as no matter, and
cast it in the air with his blessing. The little silver nut he planted in the
Party Field where the tree had once been; and he wondered what would come of it.
All through the winter he remained as patient as he could, and tried to restrain
himself from going round constantly to see if anything was happening.

Spring surpassed his wildest hopes. His trees began to sprout and grow, as if
time was in a hurry and wished to make one year do for twenty. In the Party
Field a beautiful young sapling leaped up: it had silver bark and long leaves
and burst into golden flowers in April. It was indeed a mallorn, and it
was the wonder of the neighbourhood. In after years, as it grew in grace and
beauty, it was known far and wide and people would come long journeys to see it:
the only mallorn west of the Mountains and east of the Sea, and one of
the finest in the world.

Altogether 1420 in the Shire was a marvellous year. Not only was there
wonderful sunshine and delicious rain, in due times and perfect measure, but
there seemed something more: an air of richness and growth, and a gleam of a
beauty beyond that of mortal summers that flicker and pass upon this
Middle-earth. All the children born or begotten in that year, and there were
many, were fair to see and strong, and most of them had a rich golden hair that
had before been rare among hobbits. The fruit was so plentiful that young
hobbits very nearly bathed in strawberries and cream; and later they sat on the
lawns under the plum-trees and ate, until they had made piles of stones like
small pyramids or the heaped skulls of a conqueror, and then they moved on. And
no one was ill, and everyone was pleased. except those who had to mow the grass.

In the Southfarthing the vines were laden, and the yield of ‘leaf’ was
astonishing; and everywhere there was so much corn that at Harvest every barn
was stuffed. ‘The Northfarthing barley was so fine that the beer of 1420 malt
was long remembered and became a byword. Indeed a generation later one might
hear an old gaffer in an inn, after a good pint of well-earned ale, put down his
mug with a sigh: ‘Ah! that was proper fourteen-twenty, that was!’

Sam stayed at first at the Cottons’ with Frodo; but when the New Row was
ready he went with the Gaffer. In addition to all his other labours he was busy
directing the cleaning up and restoring of Bag End; but he was often away in the
Shire on his forestry work. So he was not at home in early March and did not
know that Frodo had been ill. On the thirteenth of that month Farmer Cotton
found Frodo lying on his bed; he was clutching a white gem that hung on a chain
about his neck and he seemed half in a dream.

‘It is gone for ever,’ he said, ‘and now all is dark and empty.’

But the fit passed, and when Sam got back on the twenty-fifth, Frodo had
recovered, and he said nothing about himself. In the meanwhile Bag End had been
set in order, and Merry and Pippin came over from Crickhollow bringing back all
the old furniture and gear, so that the old hole soon looked very much as it
always had done.

When all was at last ready Frodo said: ‘When are you going to move in and
join me, Sam?’

Sam looked a bit awkward.

‘There is no need to come yet, if you don’t want to,’ said Frodo.
‘But you know the Gaffer is close at hand, and he will be very well looked
after by Widow Rumble.’

It s not that, Mr. Frodo, said Sam, and he went very red.

‘Well, what is it?’

‘It’s Rosie, Rose Cotton,’ said Sam. ‘It seems she didn’t like my
going abroad at all, poor lass; but as I hadn’t spoken, she couldn’t say so.
And I didn’t speak, because I had a job to do first. But now I have spoken,
and she says: “Well, you’ve wasted a year, so why wait longer?”
“Wasted?” I says. “I wouldn’t call it that.” Still I see what she
means. I feel torn in two, as you might say.’

‘I see,’ said Frodo: ‘you want to get married, and yet you want to live
with me in Bag End too? But my dear Sam, how easy! Get married as soon as you
can, and then move in with Rosie. There’s room enough in Bag End for as big a
family as you could wish for.’

And so it was settled. Sam Gamgee married Rose Cotton in the Spring of 1420
(which was also famous for its weddings), and they came and lived at Bag End.
And if Sam thought himself lucky, Frodo knew that he was more lucky himself; for
there was not a hobbit in the Shire that was looked after with such care. When
the labours of repair had all been planned and set going he took to a quiet
life, writing a great deal and going through all his notes. He resigned the
office of Deputy Mayor at the Free Fair that mid-summer, and dear old Will
Whitfoot had another seven years of presiding at Banquets.

Merry and Pippin lived together for some time at Crickhollow, and there was
much coming and going between Buckland and Bag End. The two young Travellers cut
a great dash in the Shire with their songs and their tales and their finery, and
their wonderful parties. ‘Lordly’ folk called them, meaning nothing but
good; for it warmed all hearts to see them go riding by with their mail-shirts
so bright and their shields so splendid, laughing and singing songs of far away;
and if they were now large and magnificent, they were unchanged otherwise,
unless they were indeed more fairspoken and more jovial and full of merriment
than ever before.

Frodo and Sam, however, went back to ordinary attire, except that when there
was need they both wore long grey cloaks, finely woven and clasped at the throat
with beautiful brooches; and Mr. Frodo wore always a white jewel on a chain that
he often would finger.

All things now went well, with hope always of becoming still better; and Sam
was as busy and as full of delight as even a hobbit could wish. Nothing for him
marred that whole year, except for some vague anxiety about his master. Frodo
dropped quietly out of all the doings of the Shire, and Sam was pained to notice
how little honour he had in his own country. Few people knew or wanted to know
about his deeds and adventures; their admiration and respect were given mostly
to Mr. Meriadoc and Mr. Peregrin and (if Sam had known it) to himself. Also in
the autumn there appeared a shadow of old troubles.

One evening Sam came into the study and found his master looking very
strange. He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.

‘What’s the matter, Mr. Frodo?’ said Sam.

‘I am wounded,’ he answered, ‘wounded; it will never really heal.’

But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the
next day. It was not until afterwards that Sam recalled that the date was
October the sixth. Two years before on that day it was dark in the dell under
Weathertop.

Time went on, and 1421 came in. Frodo was ill again in March, but with a
great effort he concealed it, for Sam had other things to think about. The first
of Sam and Rosie’s children was born on the twenty-fifth of March, a date that
Sam noted.

‘Well, Mr. Frodo,’ he said. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix. Rose and me had
settled to call him Frodo, with your leave; but it’s not him, it’s her.
Though as pretty a maidchild as any one could hope for, taking after Rose more
than me, luckily. So we don’t know what to do.’

‘Well, Sam,’ said Frodo, ‘what’s wrong with the old customs? Choose a
flower name like Rose. Half the maidchildren in the Shire are called by such
names, and what could be better?’

‘I suppose you’re right, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve heard some
beautiful names on my travels, but I suppose they’re a bit too grand for daily
wear and tear, as you might say. The Gaffer, he says: “Make it short, and then
you won’t have to cut it short before you can use it.” But if it’s to be a
flower-name, then I don’t trouble about the length: it must be a beautiful
flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be
beautifuller still.’

Frodo thought for a moment. ‘Well, Sam, what about elanor,
the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass of Lothlórien?’

‘You’re right again, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam delighted. ‘That’s what I
wanted.’

Little Elanor was nearly six months old, and 1421 had passed to its autumn,
when Frodo called Sam into the study.

‘It will be Bilbo’s Birthday on Thursday, Sam,’ he said. ‘And he will
pass the Old Took. He will be a hundred and thirty-one!’

‘So he will!’ said Sam. ‘He’s a marvel!’

‘Well, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘I want you to see Rose and find out if she
can spare you, so that you and I can go off together. You can’t go far or for
a long time now, of course,’ he said a little wistfully.

‘Well, not very well, Mr. Frodo.’

‘Of course not. But never mind. You can see me on my way. Tell Rose that
you won’t be away very long, not more than a fortnight; and you’ll come back
quite safe.’

‘I wish I could go all the way with you to Rivendell, Mr. Frodo, and see
Mr. Bilbo,’ said Sam. ‘And yet the only place I really want to be in is
here. I am that torn in two.’

‘Poor Sam! It will feel like that, I am afraid,’ said Frodo. ‘But you
will be healed. You were meant to be solid and whole, and you will be.’

In the next day or two Frodo went through his papers and his writings with
Sam, and he handed over his keys. There was a big book with plain red leather
covers; its tall pages were now almost filled. At the beginning there were many
leaves covered with Bilbo’s thin wandering hand; but most of it was written in
Frodo’s firm flowing script. It was divided into chapters but Chapter 80 was
unfinished, and after that were some blank leaves. The title page had many
titles on it, crossed out one after another, so:

My Diary. My Unexpected Journey. There and Back Again. And What Happened
After.

Adventures of Five Hobbits. The Tale of the Great Ring, compiled by Bilbo
Baggins from his own observations and the accounts of his friends. What we did
in the War of the Ring.

Here Bilbo’s hand ended and Frodo had written:

The Downfall

of the

Lord of the Rings

and the

Return of the King

(as seen by the Little People; being the memoirs of Bilbo and Frodo of the
Shire, supplemented by the accounts of their friends and the learning of the
Wise.)

Together with extracts from Books of Lore translated by Bilbo in Rivendell.

‘Why, you have nearly finished it, Mr. Frodo!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Well,
you have kept at it, I must say.’

‘I have quite finished, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘The last pages are for
you.’

On September the twenty-first they set out together, Frodo on the pony that
had borne him all the way from Minas Tirith, and was now called Strider; and Sam
on his beloved Bill. It was a fair golden morning, and Sam did not ask where
they were going: he thought he could guess.

They took the Stock Road over the hills and went towards the Woody End, and
they let their ponies walk at their leisure. They camped in the Green Hills, and
on September the twenty-second they rode gently down into the beginning of the
trees as afternoon was wearing away.

‘If that isn’t the very tree you hid behind when the Black Rider first
showed up, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam pointing to the left. ‘It seems like a dream
now.’

It was evening, and the stars were glimmering in the eastern sky as they
passed the ruined oak and turned and went on down the hill between the
hazel-thickets. Sam was silent, deep in his memories. Presently he became aware
that Frodo was singing softly to himself, singing the old walking-song, but the
words were not quite the same.

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate;

And though I oft have passed them by,

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

And as if in answer, from down below, coming up the road out of the valley,
voices sang:

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath,

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees

The starlight on the Western Seas.

Frodo and Sam halted and sat silent in the soft shadows, until they saw a
shimmer as the travellers came towards them.

There was Gildor and many fair Elven folk; and there to Sam’s wonder rode
Elrond and Galadriel. Elrond wore a mantle of grey and had a star upon his
forehead, and a silver harp was in his hand, and upon his finger was a ring of
gold with a great blue stone, Vilya, mightiest of the Three. But Galadriel sat
upon a white palfrey and was robed all in glimmering white, like clouds about
the Moon; for she herself seemed to shine with a soft light. On her finger was
Nenya, the ring wrought of mithril, that bore a single white stone
flickering like a frosty star. Riding slowly behind on a small grey pony, and
seeming to nod in his sleep, was Bilbo himself.

Elrond greeted them gravely and graciously, and Galadriel smiled upon them.
‘Well, Master Samwise,’ she said. ‘I hear and see that you have used my
gift well. The Shire shall now be more than ever blessed and beloved.’ Sam
bowed, but found nothing to say. He had forgotten how beautiful the Lady was.

Then Bilbo woke up and opened his eyes. ‘Hullo, Frodo!’ he said. ‘Well,
I have passed the Old Took today! So that’s settled. And now I think I am
quite ready to go on another journey. Are you coming?’

‘Where are you going, Master?’ cried Sam, though at last he understood
what was happening.

‘To the Havens, Sam,’ said Frodo.

‘And I can’t come.’

‘No, Sam. Not yet anyway, not further than the Havens. Though you too were
a Ring-bearer, if only for a little while. Your time may come. Do not be too
sad, Sam. You cannot be always torn in two. You will have to be one and whole,
for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be, and to do.’

‘But,’ said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, ‘I thought you were
going to enjoy the Shire, too. for years and years, after all you have done.’

‘So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to
save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam,
when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that
others may keep them. But you are my heir: all that I had and might have had I
leave to you. And also you have Rose, and Elanor; and Frodo-lad will come, and
Rosie-lass, and Merry, and Goldilocks, and Pippin; and perhaps more that I
cannot see. Your hands and your wits will be needed everywhere. You will be the
Mayor, of course, as long as you want to be, and the most famous gardener in
history; and you will read things out of the Red Book, and keep alive the memory
of the age that is gone. so that people will remember the Great Danger and so
love their beloved land all the more. And that will keep you as busy and as
happy as anyone can be, as long as your part of the Story goes on.

‘Come now, ride with me!’

Then Elrond and Galadriel rode on; for the Third Age was over, and the Days
of the Rings were passed, and an end was come of the story and song of those
times. With them went many Elves of the High Kindred who would no longer stay in
Middle-earth; and among them, filled with a sadness that was yet blessed and
without bitterness, rode Sam, and Frodo, and Bilbo, and the Elves delighted to
honour them.

Though they rode through the midst of the Shire all the evening and all the
night, none saw them pass, save the wild creatures; or here and there some
wanderer in the dark who saw a swift shimmer under the trees, or a light and
shadow flowing through the grass as the Moon went westward. And when they had
passed from the Shire, going about the south skirts of the White Downs, they
came to the Far Downs, and to the Towers, and looked on the distant Sea; and so
they rode down at last to Mithlond, to the Grey Havens in the long firth of
Lune.

As they came to the gates Círdan the Shipwright came forth to greet
them. Very tall he was, and his beard was long, and he was grey and old,
save that his eyes were keen as stars; and he looked at them and bowed, and
said: ‘All is now ready.’

Then Círdan led them to the Havens, and there was a white ship lying,
and upon the quay beside a great grey horse stood a figure robed all in
white awaiting them. As he turned and came towards them Frodo saw that Gandalf
now wore openly upon his hand the Third Ring, Narya the Great, and the stone
upon it was red as fire. Then those who were to go were glad, for they knew that
Gandalf also would take ship with them.

But Sam was now sorrowful at heart, and it seemed to him that if the parting
would be bitter, more grievous still would be the long road home alone. But even
as they stood there, and the Elves were going aboard, and all was being made
ready to depart, up rode Merry and Pippin in great haste. And amid his tears
Pippin laughed.

‘You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo.’ he said.
‘This time you have nearly succeeded, but you have failed again. It was not
Sam, though, that gave you away this time, but Gandalf himself!’

‘Yes,’ said Gandalf; ‘for it will be better to ride back three together
‘than one alone. Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea
comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do
not weep; for not all tears are an evil.’

Then Frodo kissed Merry and Pippin, and last of all Sam, and went aboard; and
the sails were drawn up, and the wind blew, and slowly the ship slipped away
down the long grey firth; and the light of the glass of Galadriel that Frodo
bore glimmered and was lost. And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed
on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet
fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water.
And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the
grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld
white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

But to Sam the evening deepened to darkness as he stood at the Haven; and as
he looked at the grey sea he saw only a shadow on the waters that was soon lost
in the West. There still he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and
murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth, and the sound of them sank
deep into his heart. Beside him stood Merry and Pippin, and they were silent.

At last the three companions turned away, and never again looking back they
rode slowly homewards; and they spoke no word to one another until they came
back to the Shire. but each had great comfort in his friends on the long grey
road.

At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road, and then Merry and
Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing again as they went.
But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once
more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the
evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him
in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.